


The Desperation of Davesprite

by secondhandact



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (btw davesprite's got no junk), Accidental Self-Injury, Body Dysphoria, Castration, Cloaca, Dry Humping, Emotional Constipation, Enemas, F/M, Humanstuck, Humiliation, Incest, Karkat doesn't appear until chapter 20, M/M, MORE emotional constipation, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Sensation Play, Sounding, Stridercest - Freeform, Trans Character, Trans Karkat Vantas, Trans Male Character, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, but he is important, i mean he starts off with no junk, kind of?, nullification, so i guess it counts as castration, the whole story is about him having no junk, well he hurts himself sounding, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/pseuds/secondhandact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Game didn't know what to do with you, so it spit you out with a messed-up body and the wrong anatomy entirely.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>It wouldn't be so bad, if your lack of a dick had been accompanied by a lack of need, but you're so horny it </i>hurts<i> and there's nothing you can do to relieve it. How do you get off when you don't have anything to get off with? </i></p><p>  <i>What the hell are you supposed to do?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fishadee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishadee/gifts).



> ~~This fic will update ~~weekly~~ probably really inconsistently, until its eventual completion~~ so I've decided, instead of doing **actual** NaNoWriMo, I'm gonna _finish this fic._ So strap in and let's plow through this godawful mess.
> 
> Art, of course, by Fish, whose tumblr (for stuff like this) can be found [here.](http://sinningshark.tumblr.com)

You should’ve known that Dave’s response to your problem was going to involve demanding to see it with his own two eyes before he offered you any sort of help. You hadn’t wanted to tell him—hell, you hadn’t wanted to tell _anyone_ —but you’re getting desperate, and you’ve run out of ideas, and the wonderful world wide web has been zero help. It’s not like there’s many people that have your particular set of issues, and ‘how do i get off when there’s nothing to get off with’ had turned up a whole bunch of people ranting about ranting, and you’ve yet to find any set of words that actually produces anything useful. 

You should talk to Rose about this. Probably. Maybe. Except you also know that asking Rose would involve getting psychoanalyzed for at least the next three or four billion years, and you can’t even begin to talk about all the ways in which you are completely _not_ down for that. Bro’s out, too; the guy would probably bust a gut laughing his ass off and then quickly figure out the best way to make you more miserable than you already are, with his every little torment tailored specifically to your particular set of issues. If you were some sort of sick masochist with a fetish for denial and torture, maybe you’d be into that. But you’re not. Kid Bro is out for other reasons, like: it’s weird, okay, to be talking to some version of your Bro who is the same height as you and about as awkward as a duck trying to fuck a beaver. You’re not here for weird platypus-babies. You just want to fix the problem.

Which is why you’re buck-ass naked in the bedroom you share with your paradox clone (because hey, life as a former half-crow gamesprite-turned-human isn’t weird enough already) and he’s crouched down between your legs, you guess because seeing it is only believing it if his eyes are three inches from your pisshole. You shift uncomfortably as he continues his scrutiny, careful to keep your thighs spread and trying _really fucking hard_ not to think about the fact that he’s the first person to ever be this close to the junk you don’t have and how fucking sick it is that there’s a part of you getting excited about it. He’s not just your brother, he’s _you._ And he won’t stop fucking _staring._ “Jesus, it’s not _that_ weird,” you mumble, hugging yourself. At least the keratin that used to pebble your arms had managed to resolve itself into weird scarring. That looked like it made sense. The mess you’ve got between your legs doesn’t make any sense at all. 

“Yes it is,” he counters, and _fuck_ he’s touching you, his hands gently pressing down on either side of your urethral opening, thumb smoothing over the dark V-shaped place where you should have, y’know, _something,_ and a tremor runs through you. That soft skin is sensitive, sure, but it’s fucking maddening. It doubles the problem. Makes it a thousand times worse. You want to slap his hand away.

He’s the first person who isn’t you (except he is, and what a fuckup that train of thought is, so you go ahead and wreck it before it ever leaves the station ~~at least you try~~ ) to have a hand between your legs. You don’t slap it away. “C’mon, dude,” you say, a little bit uncomfortably, shifting under his examination.

His fingers run over that sweet spot, the nothingness that is the ken-doll anatomy you’ve got going on. “You don’t have anything, like, at all.”

* * *

[ ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/25a340c2768b2d4f7bb65c3065a87c86/tumblr_o5a589ssnC1ukdk90o1_500h.jpg)

* * *

“I know.” You’re aware that your voice sounds tired. Hell, you _feel_ tired. Shit like this isn’t supposed to happen. Things like you aren’t supposed to happen. You know it. You can feel it in the way your shoulderblades itch where your wings should be and the ache in the pit of your stomach that demands you stroke at/touch/fuck with the hole/dick/cloaca/ _whatever_ you don’t have. Your skin is so smooth that you rival fine porcelain in texture and you don’t even have nipples to mark you as human. There is not a damn thing natural about you. You’re a freak. Way more of a freak than you were in the Game, and that was when you were half-crow and used your midsection as a sheath for your sword, for fuck’s sake. “Trust me, I know that I’m lacking in the pants department. I think about this lacking a lot. Like, way more than I should.” You can feel your irritation growing, and you squirm away from the invasive ~~delicious~~ sensation between your legs, pressing your thighs closed once his hand takes the hint and stops touching you. “I am fully aware of just how nothing I have.”

Dave sits back, pushing his shades up into his hair so that when he looks up at you, you can see the frank astonishment in his eyes. “Holy shit,” he says finally, and you snort at the note of disbelief in his voice. 

“Basically.” You tug your own shades off and dig the heels of your hands into your eyesockets, collapsing back on the bed. You don’t bother reaching for covers or even the boxers you’d shucked off for this little peepshow. It isn’t like you’ve got anything to hide. (Ha, ha.) 

The bed shifts with his weight as he sits down beside you, and eventually you let your arm drop to the sheets, letting your opposite arm shield your eyes. Nothing to hide, but you’re definitely not ready to look into a face that is reflection of your own and see the revulsion you’re sure that’s there. 

Silence drags on for hours. (Or minutes. Whatever. You’re not a Hero of Time, not anymore, and the tick of seconds whiling by tugs only vaguely at the edges of your subconscious. Dave could tell you down to the microsecond how much time had passed. You don’t care.) Eventually, you peek past the shield of your discolored arm up at his face, to try and judge his reaction to your weird random grab-bag of inexplicable anatomy.

He looks pensive. Like he’s actually thinking. Like he’s actually trying to work out your problem. “Y’know, you’re probably lucky you can even piss,” he concludes. “No wonder the Game didn’t know what to do with you. You’re a paradox.”

“Yeah.” This time, the sound you make is almost a cough of laughter. “One last cruel joke from a Game that did its best to fuck everyone over. I think I might be the most fucked, though.”

“The least, honestly,” he answers, and you almost hit him when he sniggers.

“Fuck you.”

“Seriously.” He falls back on the bed beside you, folding his arms under his head, studying you. It’s weird to have his face so close, but it makes his features look less like yours— distorted by nearness—and that, in turn, makes looking at him less troubling. Sometimes his existence makes your head throb. Right now is not one of those times. “Ain’t that what this whole thing is about?”

“Fucking?” He nods, and you close your eyes. “Kind of. I mean, it’s weird enough to be all dollified in the anatomy department without having to deal with wanting to stick something in a hole I don’t even have while jacking off a dick I _also_ seem to be lacking.” The fact that you crave the penetration more than the dick is not something you’re about to bring up. There’s no reason for Dave to be super familiar with how crow bits work. The only reason you know the word ‘cloaca’ is because you’d gone looking on the internet for an explanation for the hole you’d found ~~and tailfucked~~ on your backside when you’d had some downtime during the Game. You’re pretty sure the fact that you’re hurting for being filled up is because you’d been part crow for almost longer than you’d even known what your dick was for. Three years is an awful long time to chill in a body, only to have it stolen from you when the universe decided you were too weird to live and too strange to die.

At least he’s not making jokes. You’d expected them to come a dozen a minute, but your not-quite-twin seems honestly concerned for you. “You should talk to Rose.”

You groan. “Thought of that. She’d have a fucking field day with this.” 

“Or maybe she’d actually have a heart and help you out.” He nudges you. “Maybe it’d be worth letting her have her field day, if she’s got an answer for you.”

“‘Do you think your desire for penetration stems from your need to be conquered, or your feelings of inadequacy?’” You parrot, making your voice high and husky in an imitation of Rose that sounds not a thing like her. “Fuck that. I don’t feel like digging deep into my psyche for some answer to why I want to bone. I’d think it’s pretty fucking obvious that I’m a red-blooded American teenager with some red-blooded American teenage needs.”

“What about Bro?”

You shove yourself up on your elbows, peering down at him. He stares back up at you with a face so devoid of smugness that you’re pretty sure he’s being sincere. “What _about_ Bro?”

He shrugs. “Dude’s into some fucked up shit. He might be able to come up with something you haven’t tried.”

You bite back on a sarcastic comment and roll onto your side, studying him. In profile, you think, he ain’t half bad looking. “You’re serious.”

“Sure.” He glances at you. “It ain’t like you’re spilling over with ideas, and I sure as fuck don’t have anything to give you. I get why you came to me,” he continues, “But I am not the help you’re looking for, Nintendo.”

 _Fuck._ The nickname does little to ease the tension that’s gathering in the center of your chest, making your lungs tight. “So we should talk to Bro.”

The fact that you’ve clearly included him in whatever conversation you’re about to have with your mutual brother-father figure doesn’t phase him. “Yeah. We talk to Bro, and try not to serve up our dicks on a gold platter to him in the process.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. “Pretty sure you’d have to find mine to get it served, and at that point I think I’d be kosher with him having it. We can stir-fry it and serve it with some caramelized onions, smothered in teriyaki sauce and with a nice Chianti to wash it all down. At least then I’d know where it went.”

He’s snickering as you sit up and reach for the boxers you’d eschewed earlier, and your limbs feel like lead as you struggle back into them. Talk to Bro.

Shit is clearly more hopeless than you thought it was.


	2. Chapter 2

You don’t want to talk to Bro.

Unfortunately, your other option doesn’t seem much brighter.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

AT: yo rose you got a minute  
AT: maybe a few minutes  
AT: possibly a lot of minutes that when accumulated could add up to an hour or more  
TT: Considering the rarity with which you grace me with your searingly bright orange text on my computer screen, I think you can have as many minutes as your formerly-spritely heart desires.  
TT: How can I help you?  
AT: well to be completely 100% honest with you i dont know if you can  
AT: at this point though my options are ask you or ask the infinite measure of jackassery that is my brother-father-figure  
AT: and i am just really not quite ready to burn that bridge yet  
AT: i mean it only just got built  
AT: i dont want all that hard work to go to waste  
AT: there are whole fleets of workers that were brought in just for that bridge how disappointed would they be if i just knocked it down all sudden-like  
TT: While I am glad that I’m your very first choice, this doesn’t enlighten me as to what answers you’re looking for.  
TT: So maybe you could cut to the chase?  
TT: I am a very busy girl, you know.  
AT: right right what are you on like your eighth book now i mean jeez rosey posey you could slow your roll just a tad youre making the rest of us lalonde-strider kids look bad  
TT: I’m sure.

You stare at the bright purple of her words for a long few minutes. This really is your almost last resort, and yet you still can’t bring yourself to key in the words.

AT: so uh just theoretically  
AT: and this is all in theory mind you i am neither confirming nor denying that any of the suggestions or questions im about to throw your way  
AT: this is pure speculation and also im obviously asking for a friend not for anyone you yourself could ever possibly know  


You stop tapping and wait. She doesn’t reply. Clearly, she’s reached the end of her patience with all your fucking around, and you know Rose well enough to know that if you keep talking she’s going to give you just enough rope to hang yourself with and then string you up before poking around inside your brainpan.

Fuck it.

AT: how would one go about relieving the uh  
AT: tension i guess in a phantom limb  
TT: Are your wings giving you problems?  


Fuck, you could cry with relief. Bless Rose Lalonde for giving you such an easy out.

AT: yes of course thats exactly what the problem is  
AT: all tense from all the not flying theyre doing what with the non existing theyre also doing  
AT: hard to go fluttering off through the world when they arent even attached to my shoulders  
TT: For something like that, I’d think a good solid massage is in order.  
TT: It really isn’t that complicated, DS.  


You groan. That doesn’t help _at all._ But it isn’t like you can take it back now. You’ve already jumped so quick on the idea that it’s your wings bothering you that you can’t really ask about other ways to relieve tension without her getting overly curious. 

Your phone chirps, and you peer down at it cautiously.

TT: Now, if you’d like to tell me what’s actually going on, I am all ears.  
TT: I’d be willing to suspect that there’s more complications to your anatomy than just a lack of wings. Especially considering the specific line you’re querying and the way you tried to present it to me.  
TT: I don’t know how you ever thought that you’d be able to pass that off as a question about anyone but you.  
TT: You are pretty unique, even in our group of friends.  


Your stomach plummets. Leave it to Rose. This was why you hadn’t wanted to talk to her in the first place. She isn’t usually the type to let anyone have any secrets.

AT: okay ha ha you caught me but lets not make a big deal about it okay  
AT: i dont know why there are so many problems honestly  
TT: You’re a lost bit of code that was never meant to make it past the burning land of your Hero. Honestly, the fact that you weren’t purged with the ending of the code is an interesting anomaly. I assume it’s because the Game recognized at least part of your DNA as belonging to one of the winning Heroes.  
TT: To put it simply, you shouldn’t exist.  
TT: So it’s hardly a surprise that your physiology wasn’t entirely programmed properly.  
TT: The program you were a proper part of ceased being relevant years ago.  


You watch the words crawl across your screen with a sick feeling in your throat. Nothing like being reminded that the people you think of as ‘friends’ hardly think of you as even a person. 

This was a mistake. Messaging her was a mistake.

AT: wow thanks so very much for that slap in the face of a reality check  
AT: my very existence laughs in the face of all that could be right and good in the world awesome i guess ill just accept my twisted joke of a fate and go fuck off then  
TT: That isn’t what I meant, DS, and you know it.  
TT: I wasn’t aware that the flare for the dramatic was so prevalent in the Strider side of our ectoplasmic family.  
TT: Maybe it’s just in the Daves of the family.  
AT: whatever rose christ this was a fucking mistake  
AT: can you help or not  
TT: Honestly, I don’t know why you thought I ever could.  
TT: If you had fully functional parts and were having troubles despite your anatomy, then maybe we would have something that I could work with.  
TT: Unfortunately for you, I’m not very well versed in the way the nervous system works and how it relates to your ‘phantom limb’ problem, as it were.  
TT: You’ve got someone in that house who is a wealth of knowledge on the functionality of limbs, both robotic and non.  
TT: I think you’re going to have to break down, swallow what little pride you’ve got, and face him.  
TT: And if it’s so bad that you thought that _I_ would be a possible answer to your problems, then maybe whatever scorn you’re going to endure is going to be worth it.  


You close your eyes for a brief second. Fuck, this hurts, and in more ways than one. You weren’t expecting the emotional suckerpunch to be followed up with the ol’ one-two of truth that she’s throwing your way now.

AT: maybe hell fuck who knows  
AT: its not like i have a lot of options right now and lbr here if i wasnt desperate i wouldnt be talking to you  
  


Her last messages don’t come for hours, and by the time they do, you’re half asleep, blankets tucked around you in some approximation of the nests you used to make in the Game, and you blink sleepily at the bright text.

TT: For what it’s worth, I really do wish you luck in this area.  
TT: You may be an anomaly, but you’re one whose company I definitely enjoy, and it would be nice to see what happens when you actually can relieve some of that tension you’re carrying in your shoulders.  
TT: Maybe you should consider a massage, anyway.  
AT: yeah maybe  
AT: thanks anyway i guess  
TT: Honestly, I’m just sorry I couldn’t help more.  
TT: Goodnight, sprite.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a brief moment where Bro touches DS in a dirty way without his permission and it clearly leaves Davesprite pretty shaken. I’ve noted where it begins and ends with a page break.
> 
> If you need to skip this chapter, you can do so without losing anything. The next chapters cover pretty well what happens in this one.
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy.

“You ever heard of sensation association?”

Bro’s reclining in his chair, gum popping between his teeth and his hands tucked behind his head. The robe Dave had conned you into wearing is open, and while you know that there’s nothing spectacular about your bod save for its’ remarkable _un_ -spectacular-ness, you somehow feel more bare than you would’ve without it. Something about the fact that the only light in the room is coming from the trio of monitors behind Bro, combined the images on the monitors being a conglomeration of puppets and dicks that you hate thinking about for any extended period of time makes everything feel weird. Throw in _knowing_ your older Bro is drinking in the sight of your bare weirdness behind his reflective shades and you’re pretty sure nobody would ever fault you for turning tail and running, right there. You can feel his gaze crawling over your skin, and it’s nerve-wracking. This isn’t what you were hoping for from this little experimental encounter. While you’re sure Dave was right in putting you in something that granted easy access to a little peep-show exposing your dysfunctional anatomy, that doesn’t make bearing the fruits of his brilliance any easier. 

But Bro’s given you a word. A couple of words. Words that mean plenty when separated, but are just a jumble of syllables when combined. “The hell is that?”

Dave is standing just behind you, and while his presence should be comforting, his silence just makes all of this feel even more off-kilter. Bro’s completely ignoring him, and all his attention is on you. “Sensation association,” he repeats, rocking in his kushy office chair. “Basically, you think really hard about what you want to be feeling when you’re feeling something. Like, maybe you want that caress on your thigh to feel like fingers on your dick.” His fingers slide over his leg as he stops rocking. “Mind over matter. Shouldn’t be too hard for you—bein’ used as a puppet means your mind is conditioned to let other shit take it over.”

You bristle at the comparison, but the expression on his face is briefly sobering, and you remember that the Guardians of the Game were just as used as you were, if not more so. At least you threw yourself willingly into that sprite. He was never given a choice. You swallow down the biting remark that had been dancing on the tip of your tongue, and instead school your expression into one of studied skepticism. “So, what, I rub my leg, pretend it’s my dick, and hope that does the trick? Gets me going?”

Bro’s eyebrows raise. “Could do.” He shifts in his chair, sitting up slightly. “C’mere.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. It isn’t exactly like Bro’s known for gentle touches. You glance over your shoulder nervously. Dave looks just as lost as you; he shrugs, shaking his head, and you suck in a breath that does absolutely shit-all for calming your nerves before taking the few steps between the door and Bro’s computer setup. It isn’t until you’re within reach of him that you realize you can hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

* * *

Bro leans forward, elbow on his knee and fingers rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “Dave, fuck off.” He waves his hand at the door. “Close the door behind you.”

 _Shit._ You tense up. While you’re pretty sure Bro would never hurt you (not physically; not like _that_ —all the licks he’d dealt you growing up had been in strife, and there’d been almost none of those since the Game had ended) the idea of being trapped alone in the room with him is not your idea of a good time. There’s a pause where you’re almost sure that Dave’s gonna stick around, argue for your safety, demand that he be allowed to stay—and then you hear the door click shut. 

The sensation of Bro’s hands on your hips is sudden enough that you yelp, and he slaps away your fluttering hands when they reach to shove his away. You twist and it earns you a swat across the side of your ass and a _tsk_ from the man you’re in front of. “Fuckin’ _stop movin’,_ I just need a look at you.” 

He sounds irritated enough that you freeze, struggling to slow your breathing. He’s just looking. Dave looked and you’d been fine with it. Well, kind of. A little. Not really—you’d trembled like a leaf and almost keened when he’d touched you and _fuck Bro’s fingers are cold are they fucking **going inside you??** Ohfuckohfuckohfuck_ —

Your hips give a little involuntary shudder. Fortunately, his exploration is brief, and it isn’t until he’s cleaning his fingers with a kleenex that you realize your cheeks are wet. “You’re lucky you’ve got any of this at all, y’know.” There’s no trace of amusement in his voice. It’s very matter-of-fact, the way he’s talking. “Shit, you’re lucky you’re even _alive._ ” You don’t respond. It’s hard to, when you’re a little sore from your brother fucking with you in ways you weren’t ready for. “You have any issues with digestion? Everything functioning the way it should?”

He snaps his fingers in front of your face a few times before you realize he’s waiting for a response. “Y-yeah.” Your chest is tight, and it makes filling your lungs harder than it should be. “Save for, y’know, the—”

* * *

“Phantom boner. Whatever.” He waves a hand through the air dismissively. “Shit, kid, you’re an anomaly of a fuckup, you realize that?”

Bro’s casual labelling is like cold water being splashed in your face. You wonder if people reminding you that you shouldn’t exist is ever gonna stop feeling like a kick in the teeth. “Yeah.” Your voice is flat. “I’m pretty aware of the laughable joke that I am. Can I fucking go now?”

There is absolutely nothing reassuring about the way Bro smiles. You’re a ~~crow~~ bird caught in his greedy little talons and he’s about to have you for lunch. “If you want to, sure. But that won’t solve the problem that dragged you into my room in the first place.” His hands are folded on his chest, and he’s bobbing in the chair again, watching you. 

You hesitate. On the one hand, you want to bolt from the room and pretend you’d never had a finger up your ass and another one in the hole in the front (and that one, you’d like to remind him, isn’t made for penetration, piss comes out and shit does _not_ go in) but on the other hand...”Pretty desperate,” you finally admit. God, just the thought of there might possibly be some sort of relief for your near-permanent state of arousal already has you craving...shit, you don’t even know. It’s almost impossible to describe the way your insides are twisting, longing for something you’re pretty sure you can’t ever have again.

Some of your despair must be showing on your face, because Bro’s sitting up, studying you. “You tried anal?”

The question makes you cringe. “Yeah, couple times.” It hadn’t been an enjoyable experience, and the moments that you’d managed to hit some sort of sweet spot, it had only made things worse. He’s studying you expectantly, and you roll your eyes. “It was uncomfortable as hell. Not something I really wanna try again.”

Bro spreads his hands away from himself. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. Seems like that might be the easiest solution. Just gotta get someone who knows how to work you right.”

The way he says it makes you suck in a breath. You’re definitely a little fucked up, and you had a lot of weird dreams when you were a kid that featured Bro and the monster he’s got between his legs, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to actually confront the weird incestuous desires humming in the back of your head. “I’m kind of looking for something I can do on my own, thanks. ‘Sides, I don’t think ‘working me right’ is gonna be something you can do. Anybody who’s seen your site knows what you’re packing.”

The comment surprises a bark of laughter from him, which only further inflames the heat that’s burning in your cheeks. “Fair enough. I’m not about to wreck your tiny ass on the first go,” he teases. “But the other shit...it’s gonna take some practice for you to get it right on your own.”

You swallow. The fact that he’s basically offering to fuck you up sends a shiver dancing over your skin. “I can probably figure it out.” There’s confidence in your voice that you don’t feel, but you summon up your most bored look all the same. “Can I go now?”

Bro doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks amused. “Sure. But the offer’s on the table. Remember, DS, I just want to help.” The words are spoken with such sincerity that you know he’s mocking you, and you don’t even dignify him with a response before you stalk out of the room.

You’ll figure it out. Mind over matter.

You’ve got this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never heard of sensation association, for what it’s worth, and I didn’t find shit about it online; but my friend Fish is clearly kinkier than me and was thus the driving mind behind this chapter. And this whole fic, really. So go thank Fish.


	4. Chapter 4

You have no idea how to start.

All the things you’ve ever read about people trying—look in the mirror, explore your anatomy, think about what feels good—none of it seems applicable to you. First of all, looking in a mirror sounds like the last thing you want to do. You know what your junk (or lack thereof) looks like. You prefer not to think about it most days. Similarly, exploring your anatomy is definitely out. You know how it works. There’s a pair of holes. Whatever waste your body has goes out of them. Supposedly, it’d feel good if something went in one of them, but you’ve yet to find enjoyment in that sort of penetration. All it does is make the impossibility of the penetration you _do_ crave that much more obvious. 

You try googling the term that Bro had given you—‘sensation association'—but nothing you turn up offers anything about how to mimic penetration in an orifice you don’t have. The whole thing is actually very vague. There’s not much to go on at all, and that has your pulse quickening. You don’t want to have to turn to Bro for this. You don’t want to need his help. Not any more than he’s already deigned to give it to you, at least. The idea of him touching you—like _that_ —makes you equal parts sick and excited, and you haven’t figured out which feeling is stronger. Last thing you would want is to hork your lunch all over his shoes once you finally get down to business just because you don’t know what you want.

So, no. Bro’s out of the question. Which means you’ve got to figure this out on your own.

The basic concept seems simple enough. Touch your skin. Think about how it would feel if it was other skin being touched. You puzzle over that in your mind for a second, before finally settling your hand on your thigh. _My dick,_ you think, and you can feel the tips of your ears burning in embarrassment. The whole thing seems fucking ridiculous.

But you’ve got to try _something._

After a few seconds of hesitation, you pull up Google and after a few more seconds of hesitation, you let your fingers tap over the keys. (Left-handed, and you almost want to laugh, because your right hand sure is under the desk but it ain’t between your legs and yet the ultimate end desire is still the same.) 

The videos that come up are not even a little bit satisfying. You don’t want all this dancing around (though it definitely makes things tingle, watching him fluff his plumage like that), you want the _act,_ the place where tab A inserts into slot B—or, in this case, where slot B rubs vigorously against slot A. Unfortunately, the internet doesn’t seem to be very forthcoming. All the shots it’s giving you are blurry and indistinct and nothing’s close enough for you to be satisfied. It doesn’t take very long for you to navigate out of that tab, closing it with shame burning in your gut. You may not be all the way a person, but you’re definitely not really a bird, and looking at that shit shouldn’t even be in your range of interests. Boring human sex is definitely the way you should go.

You click your way through a half-dozen porn sites without really seeing anything, your mind drawing a blank while you try to figure out what you should be looking for, what you even want to be looking at. Just the little clips of unviewed videos is enough to make you squirm anyway, regardless of what they’re focusing on. Hard dicks, jiggling tits, bouncing butts and you’re chewing on your lower lip and and rubbing at your leg and trying, trying, _trying_ to focus on the concept of how it would feel if you were rubbing on your dick instead. 

Eventually, you close your eyes and lean back, continuing to let your hand slide over your thigh (dick, your _dick,_ ) and all you can think about is how your dick wouldn’t be _this_ thick, how the texture is wrong, and why would you rub your dick like this, anyway?

You briefly entertain the idea of curling your fingers around your wrist, but that seems just as laughable as what you’re doing right now. All of this seems fucking stupid, especially when what you want—what you _really_ want—is to be filled up and stretched wide and left aching. You don’t want anything tight around your shaft. You want to be tight around someone else’s.

Finally, you shove away from the computer with a sharp exhalation of breath, raking your hands through your hair in angry frustration. It feels like you’ve been trying for hours—until you check the clock and realize it’s only been about _five minutes_. Somehow, that makes it worse, and you thump a fist against your desk. “ _Dammit!_ ”

As you rise from your chair, you stumble, because your tail isn’t there and instead you’ve got some weird sticks called ‘legs’ that are fucking _useless_ for keeping balance. Desperately you flap your wings to give yourself some stability but there’s no resistance, no drag, **nothing** fighting the air to keep you upright so down you go, your shoulders twitching and a sharp ~~squawk~~ cry twisting from you when you hit the floor. By the time your brain has sorted out how your body _actually_ works, you’ve managed to struggle up to your knees, and for a few moments you remain there, arms wrapped around your stomach to cover a hole that isn’t there and thighs pressed together to offer some sort of soothing pressure to a hole you really, really wish **was** there. 

As the shaking starts to ease off, you try to focus on the harsh sound of your breath, forcing it to steady. It wouldn’t do for your brothers to see you like this. Hell no. Emotions? In _our_ family? ( ~~it’s more likely than you think—~~ ) Not an option.

So you shut it down. Breathe. It’s only your first time trying this, you remind yourself. (The dysphoric moment you just had is already being shoved far, far away, locked behind a hundred walls and buried in the deepest corner of your mind.) You’ve never done anything like this before, and the fact that you’d managed to at least work yourself up a little bit means maybe it’ll work. _Be positive._ You can figure this out. You have to. 

It can’t be that hard. 

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

It _is_ too hard, and it takes less than a week for you to text Bro.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering critiasCorroborated [CC] --  
AT: listen i need your help and i need you to also not crow triumphantly and dance through the house singing your conquest to the high heavens for all of valhalla to hear  
AT: seriously there dont need to be any trumpets  
AT: no frothing mugs of ale being toasted over the bounty that is my fine sexless ass  
AT: no ballads sung of how sweet victory is  
AT: capiche  
CC: Sounds like someone’s got his panties all in a twist.  
CC: It isn’t like this is some grand prize.  
CC: My kid brother’s paradox-sprite-clone is having some issues.  
CC: I am just here to help.  
CC: No ulterior motives.  
AT: yeah okay id maybe believe that if i was prototyped yesterday but news flash bucko its been at least three years and im still kicking  
AT: and i am not at all the total bonehead fuckboy idiot you think i am  
CC: Of course you aren’t.  
CC: You’re the pinnacle of intelligence and aptitude.  
CC: Pardon me for ever doubting you.  
CC: Clearly I am super in the wrong.  
CC: How could you ever, ever forgive me.  
CC: You done dispensing with the niceties and ready to actually tell me what you want?

Fuck.

AT: i want you to not laugh at me  
AT: i wouldve thought that was clear  
CC: Yes, it’s pretty clear.  
CC: Crystal, even.  
CC: What _else_ do you want, shitstick.

Fuckfuck _fuck._

AT: well uh  
AT: maybe this whole mind over matter thing isnt as easy as i thought it was  
AT: maybe ive been actively trying to figure out some way to use this to my advantage for like three fucking days now  
AT: and maybe  
AT: just maybe  
AT: im willing to take you up on your offer

There’s no response to your text. When five minutes go by, you bury your face in your pillow and scream. Fuck. You blew it. You knew you’d blown it before you’d even sent the message. What were you thinking, putting yourself in a vulnerable position with Bro, where he could take absolute advantage of your misery and make you squirm? You’re an idiot. A grade A idiot. You are going to win an idiot award for how much of an idiot you are. You--

CC: Well, that definitely is an interesting prospect.  
CC: Unfortunately for you, I’ve got a project that I’m working on, and there’s a deadline. Shit will have to wait.

You cover your face with the pillow again. Of _course_ there’s a project. Of fucking _course_ there’s a deadline.

CC: Besides, wasn’t there some fuss about how this was weird and incestuous?  
CC: Didn’t you want to avoid that, oh purest of pure souls?

...is he serious?

AT: you fucking know there wasnt  
AT: i never once complained about the fact that my brother was offering to fuck me  
CC: No, you didn’t, did you.  
CC: Funny, that.

What an _asshole._

CC: You sure you don’t want to find one of your little friends to help you?  
AT: fuck and no and a whole lot of other words that mean ‘fuck no’  
AT: the fact that ive had to expose my gloriously fucking freaky anatomy to two of my family members is enough trauma for one lifetime thanks  
AT: all those little friends already think im weird there is not a single reason for me to further those thoughts  
AT: you would in fact probably be super surprised to know that we dont tend to ponder each others genitalia for very long  
AT: for example i have not once considered what jade might look like under her skirt  
CC: Really? I’m pretty curious about that.  
CC: Isn’t she part dog?  
CC: Was the dog a boy dog or a girl dog?  
CC: These are questions that need answers, sodapop.  
AT: first of all ew and second of all arent you like a hundred years old  
AT: this is a phrase i never thought id use and i pray to whatever gods may exist that i never have to use it again but  
AT: stop thinking about my ex-girlfriend’s genitals  
CC: Ex-girlfriend? Learn something new every day.  
AT: i am regretting ever having messaged you today  
AT: its none of your business who ive dated  
CC: Actually, if you’ve got any intention of pursuing the inane idea that sent you scurrying to my room in the first place, it is completely my business.  
CC: Need to know what you’ve done so I know what I’m dealing with.  
AT: jesus christ

You collapse back on your bed and it takes a good three seconds of you trying to hide your face in your wings before you remember they aren’t there anymore. God, why is everything so difficult? It’s hard, is what it is. It’s hard to be a former sprite construct, and nobody understands.

You lay in silence so long that you almost fall asleep. It’s only when you realize that the little light is blinking on your phone that you finally decide to respond to him.

Unfortunately, there’s not just one message when you open your screen. There’s several.

CC: Well? I’m waiting.

CC: There’s only so patient I can be, Sprite.

CC: Really? That’s the dealbreaker? Inquiring about your sexual history?  
CC: Honestly, if you’re going to be this much of a squeamish little fuck about it, I’m not sure if I want to help you.  
CC: Call me prudish, but I don’t tend to make a habit of feeling up kids I’m related to.

The last barrage of messages, you’re ~~weirdly relieved~~ surprised to see, was only sent a handful of seconds ago.

AT: no no oh my god calm the fuck down  
AT: theres not anything to talk about  
AT: i hit the game when i was 13 and then spend three years as a part-crow bit of game data  
AT: it isnt exactly like i had any time to get my freak on  
CC: Oh, then I definitely don’t have time for you this week.

Your heart plummets, and you curl up. That ache is back, between your legs and hovering somewhere in the pit of your stomach, and the news that there’s not going to be any satisfaction (for sure; you’re not completely positive satisfaction can be had, but to know you aren’t going to even be able to try?) until next week only makes it worse.

AT: only a true dick would take advantage of his kid brothers lack of experience just to make him suffer  
CC: If you really think that’s what this is, then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.  
CC: No, you dingus, I just don’t have time to figure out what makes you tick this week. But I tell you what. I’ll clear up a whole two days on my schedule at the end of next week, starting, I don't know, Thursday?  
CC: And then maybe we can do something about your little problem.  
CC: Sound good?

You groan. It’s only Tuesday. That’s almost two whole weeks.

AT: no  
AT: see you next thursday

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] ceased pestering critiasCorroborated [CC] --

You damn near throw your phone across the room, but it’s buzzing before you can, so you re-open your messages.

\-- critiasCorroborated [CC] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

CC: I look forward to it, lil’ man.

\-- critiasCorroborated [CC] ceased pestering davesprite [AT] \--

This time, you do drop your phone, and cover your face with both of your hands. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?


	6. Chapter 6

To his credit, Dave doesn’t boot you out of the room when you throw open his door and collapse on his bed. In fact, he hardly pays any attention to you—he’s clicking his way through MS Paint, probably creating the next really brilliant SBAHJ comic. You’ve got to admire that guy, sometimes. You’d lost all desire to keep creating that stuff when the game had spit you out, and he’d started churning shit out so fast that you’re surprised the tablet he’s scribbling on hasn’t caught fire yet. 

You let the silence drag on for longer than you should. It’s hard to be the one to break it, especially when you’re hoping like hell it’ll actually be him. “I texted Bro.”

“That definitely doesn’t sound the most colossal mistake of the millennia.” He doesn’t move, his eyes remaining focused on the computer in front of him. “Did you hit him up about your problem?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. It doesn’t matter. Dave’s pretty good at knowing when you’re doing what. It probably has something to do with the fact that half of your DNA comes from him. (The other half comes from a non-existent Game and a dead crow, which is probably why you're having so many issues.)

Sure enough, he doesn't even glance up, but he nods in acknowledgement all the same. 

Silence settles again, though this time it's a comfortable one, one in which you can let your mind wander over all the possibilities that the end of the week could bring. There aren't that many. You are pretty unaware of what your brother is into—and anyway, he isn't even technically _your_ brother. Your brother got erased when your timeline ended.

You're so out of place it's unreal.

You don't know how much Dave can help, but you have to ask. “What do you think he's gonna do?”

Dave snorts. “I think the fact that the two of you are gonna do anything is fucked up.” There's no derision in his his voice, though, and you roll your eyes. You know what he dreamed about when he was a kid. After all, you'd dreamed about it, too.

“Quit with the stupid-ass fake judgey bullshit.” You're watching him now. “It ain't like you're talking to someone who has no clue what goes on in your head. We don't have any secrets.” 

He stiffens, but it doesn't last long, and when he finally spins to face you, his expression is flat. “Then I don't know why you think I've got any info you don't.” He spreads his hands away from himself. “Bro Strider is a mysterious enigma wrapped up in a lot of ironic bullshit and filled with dumb anime references. What more do you want?” You open your mouth to speak, but he's already turning around. “Be better off asking Dirk,” he mutters. “Honestly, the two are so alike it's fucking scary.””

The concept makes your blood run cold. “Yeah, okay, because showing off my deformed body to _yet another fucker_ in our weird ectobiological family tree is super high on my list of ‘shit I want to do all the time ever’.” You scowl, pushing yourself into a sitting position. “Do you even listen to yourself talk?”

“I try not to.” He’s back in his zone, his voice distant as he clicks through the images he’s got pulled up. “Leads to huge disasters and frequent emotional devastation.”

Well, that’s probably the most help you’re going to get from your not-quite-a-twin. You sigh, slumping forward and putting your head in your hands. “This is a stupid idea.”

There’s silence from the other side of the room. 

“Stupidest idea I’ve ever had,” you go on. “Stupider than throwing Cal into a sprite. More inane than throwing _myself_ into a sprite.”

“Please.”

You’re not about to quit now, though; you’re just getting started. “On a scale of one to ‘jump into the sun’, this is probably right around fighting omniscient all-powerful dog-bosses, and that got him killed last time—”

The chair squeaks, and you don’t bother looking up when you feel the bed shift with his weight. You do, however, go quiet, and it isn’t until he clears his throat that you finally look up. You wonder if your eyes are red. They feel red. Red and raw, like you’ve been crying. (You haven’t been crying. You swear, you haven’t been crying.) He’s not wearing his shades, so you can’t check your reflection, and you’d given up on yours this morning, because you’d had enough of being reminded that you weren’t the _real_ Dave and continuing to masquerade as his double seemed stupid to you. Not today, you’d thought. 

Now you’re wishing you hadn’t done that.

He squints at you. “Is this really that fucking important?”

You stare at him. How can he even ask that? “What?”

“Is it really that important,” he begins, “That you be able to—”

You cut him off, tilting your head back and staring at the ceiling. “I swear to fuck, if you’re really about to ask your hormonal teenage double if finding a way to satisfy his invisible perma-boner is important, I’m going to slap you so hard that you’ll hit the outskirts of paradox space and have to be snapped back into present time.”

He lifts his hands, palms out. “Whoa, don’t martyr a guy, alright? I’m just trying to help.”

“Help _how,_ ” you snap. “By telling me I shouldn’t worry about it? Go ahead, Dave, get right on the ‘why-do-you-even-exist’ train, I hear it’s a really popular ride this time of year, all the pretty girls go for a trip at least once a week—”

“Fucking _quit it._ ” He sounds tired, and that’s what makes you stop, more than anything else. You fall silent, studying your (not) twin.

Silence is becoming a good friend of yours.

When he breaks it, he’s rubbing his temples. “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend your existence doesn’t fuck with me, okay? It’s _weird,_ to wake up and know that at some point I’m gonna run into some guy who looks enough like me to throw the whole world for a loop, except with smoother skin and fucked up markings all up and down his arms. Not to mention your hair and eyes are decidedly more orange than mine.”

 

“Stop it.” Your cheeks are heating up, and you kind of wish you could crawl under a rock and just maybe die. He doesn’t stop, though. No, that would be too easy, and he’s _Dave Strider_ —he doesn’t do ‘easy’.

“Fuck you,” he supplies as a response to your demand he stops, and then he keeps going. “But I’ve come to terms with it. You didn’t ask for this. Nobody asks for this shit. Nobody would. This—whatever you are—you’re this because of me.”

That’s definitely not what you were expecting. “What?”

“Because of me.” His gaze is unwavering. “You’re here because of me. Because you had to come save my dumb ass from throwing a nightmarish hell-puppet into a kernelsprite. If it weren’t for that,” he shrugs,”You’d be another dead Dave on the pile, instead of going through whatever weird misery you’re going through now. So, yeah. This is because of me. So I’m gonna, I guess, try and make it right.”

Awkwardly, you scrub your hand through the back of your hair, unable to hold his gaze any longer. There’s that friend of yours again, but this time the silence doesn’t linger, because you’re willing to break it. “Uh. Thanks.”

He snorts. “We’re not gonna talk about it ever again. So don’t mention it.” He nudges at your shoulder until you look back up at him, and when you see the serious expression on his face, you swallow. “Whatever it takes, DS. I’ve got your back.”

The laugh that escapes you is the exact amount of strained to suit the situation. “This is a pretty fucked up situation to have my back in. ‘Hey Dave, I’m gonna go prostrate myself in front of our insane ninja-brother-father-figure and in hopes that he can help me figure out how to get off, you got any advice?’” 

You both get a chuckle out of that, and when the laughter (it’s bordering on hysterical for you; you don’t know what it is for him) subsides, he scrubs a finger across his eye, wiping away what couldn’t possibly actually be a tear. “Yeah, well. Our lives have been fucked up from the get go.”

“You could say that again.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t.” He pats your knee. “Dude, I’m sorry I don’t have more advice. Just know, I guess, my door is open, and I’ll bring you some AJ and help you figure out how to get past the trauma of whatever Bro’s gonna do.”

Your stomach is in knots at this point. “That ain’t exactly reassuring.”

He’s sliding off the bed, stretching as he heads back to his computer. “No, but it’s the truth.” He sinks down into his chair, spinning back around to face the computer. “Not like I can lie to you, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Honestly, at this point, you wish he could. You could do with some sympathetic, comforting reassurances, even if they’re empty ones. He’s right, though. There’s no secrets between the two of you. “Thanks. I guess.”

“Uh huh.” Already, he’s no longer paying attention to you, and you listen to the click-click of his mouse for a couple more minutes before deciding that you’ll take his silent hint to fuck off and do exactly that.

When you step out of his room, you nearly run face-first into Bro’s chest.

He’s standing just beyond the doorway, arms folded over his chest, a smirk on his face. Your stomach plummets through the floor. _Was he listening in?_ Of course he was. Look at his face. Look at his expression. _Shit. How much did he hear?_

Enough, you guess, because his grin widens when he sees whatever emotion you’re accidentally showing in your face (fear. It’s fear) and claps a hand down on your shoulder. “I’m looking forward to our date, soda-sprite.”

You swallow. “Uh. Good.” The words come out half-mumbled, and you find you’re having a serious issue lifting your gaze above chest-level.

He squeezes your shoulder hard enough that you’re pretty sure there are going to be bruises. “Glad you’ve got a friend in Davey,” he adds, chuckling. “Means I don’t have to worry so much ‘bout cleaning up the mess you’re gonna be.” He pats your shoulder, and flicks up his shades so you can see him wink without the plastic obscuring his eyes. “Hope you’re ready.”

Your cheeks are burning. You can’t find your voice; but it’s just as well, because he releases you and turns away, heading towards his room at the end of the hallway. You slump against the wall and close your eyes.

You’re not ready, and you’re not going to be. But what other choice do you have?


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey!”

Her voice cuts through your daydream like a well-thrown shuriken, and you give your head a shake, glancing over at the girl sitting beside you on the couch. She’s watching you with a sort of anxious curiosity, her ears pricked forward and her eyes wide. You know, because you know Jade, that behind her her tail is probably twitching in a very slow, hopeful sort of wag. You wonder how long you’d been zoned out on the couch. Must have been for at least a few minutes. Has she been trying to talk to you? “Huh,” you mumble, trying to gather your bearings. “Yeah, what?”

“I said, what’s got you all down?” Now that you’re paying attention to her, she leans forward, propping herself up with her arms on the couch. You resist the urge to flinch back. After all, it’s _Jade._ She’s never been any sort of a threat to you. She won’t hurt you.

“Uh.” You swallow. “Just thinking about a problem I’m having.”

She tilts her head to the side. It’s really fucking cute and it makes your heart pang in your chest. “Problem?” When she giggles, it’s the sound you imagine the word joy would have, if it wasn’t just a word. “What sort of problems are you having? Is it something secret? Oh. Or is it something that you just don’t want to tell me?”

You roll your eyes. “Since when have I kept anything from you?”

“You’re keeping something from me right now,” she points out. “Stop dodging the question and just answer it.” She follows this with a grin that is probably meant to be reassuring.

“Just a problem,” you repeat, your tail curling under you. You have to resist the urge to fold your wings around yourself to keep her at bay. “I don’t know if I want to talk about it. I’ve been talking about it a lot, and I’m kind of fucking sick of it, to be honest.”

The couch moves when she sinks back into it, bouncing briefly in place. “Talking about it to all the wrong people, it sounds like.” She curls her fingers into the cushion beneath her, looking over her shoulder at you. “You should’ve talked about it to _me._ Before you talked about it with any of them, I mean! It’s silly, isn’t it?” There’s that grin, but this time there’s something sly about it. “I mean, I knew you better than any of them _first._ I understood before they did.”

Slowly, you nod. Jade’s always understood you. While she probably isn’t currently dealing with the sort of problems you are, she knows what it’s like to be in a body you didn’t pick. You’ve never asked her what complications came with being merged with an omniscient dog-being. You’re pretty sure not all the changes are bonus perks, though. You’ve seen how hollow her eyes get when she’s left alone to think about it for too long. 

You try very hard to make sure she never has a chance to think about it for too long.

“It’s just...the way shit worked out,” you say, folding your arms over your chest and looking away from her. The wall sure is interesting this time of day. “Y’know. Me with all these hormones and no way to satisfy them.”

You don’t have to see her face to hear the confusion in her voice. “What are you talking about?”

You shift uncomfortably, your tail coiling a little tighter. “I mean, the fact that I don’t have _anything_ to satisfy ‘em with.” You sigh. “There’s nothing there.”

She giggles again, and then she’s close to you, close enough that you can feel her weight shifting the cushion under you, and you let yourself lean into her. Almost immediately, her arms rise to wrap around you, and she presses a kiss to your cheek. “Maybe you’re overthinking it.”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You might be right,” you admit after a second. “I mean, I don’t stop thinking about it.” 

She tilts her head against your shoulder, studying you quizzically. “Why not?”

“Because it’s stupid,” you answer, sliding an arm around her. She falls easily against your side, her hand resting on your chest, toying with your pendant almost idly. “I want to stop aching for a feeling I’m never gonna get.”

“What feeling can’t you get?” She twists and untwists the pendant’s chain, her eyes still fixed on your face.

You can feel your cheeks darkening under the orange glow of your skin. “I mean. I want to be inside something, but I don’t have anything to get inside _with._ ”

She shakes her head, smiling, gaze dropping to the pendant she’s got in her hands. “No, you don’t. You’re overthinking it and honestly, you’re lying to yourself! You shouldn’t do that, DS.” She taps at your chest. “Don’t be what you think you should be. Just be you. Who you are.”

She’s good at making you laugh. “Who am I, Jade?” You look down at your body, all orange and feathers and dripping yellow blood. “I’m not anything. A freak.”

“You’re Davesprite.” Her hand is sliding over your chest, rubbing at your skin. “That’s who you are. And you’re special.”

You sigh, watching her hand comb over your chest. “That’s one way to put it,” you mutter, letting your shoulders and wings sag against the back of the couch. “Special. Wants to be fucked but ain’t got a hole for the fucking. Doesn’t even want his dick touched.”

“Mmm, helps that you don’t have a dick to touch.” You’re both watching the path of her fingers now. It means you almost don’t notice her hand on your back until it starts to move lower, creeping towards the place where tail joins backside and your anatomy ceases being anything remotely human. “You haven’t had one in a long time.”

“I know that.” Your breath is quickening. “But I’m still a dude, still a guy— I still should want to be hard and hot and inside something—”

Her laugh is soft, and she shakes her head, looking up at you. “No,DS. You haven’t wanted that in a long time.” Her fingers have found your opening, and she’s rubbing her hand over your swollen cloacal lips. “Not for years.” She leans up, her lips brushing over your ear. “You should probably accept it.”

She might still be talking, but you don’t care, because her fingers are slipping inside you—

 

You jerk awake, and it takes you a few seconds to realize the ragged sound in the room is your own shuddering breath. With a groan, you collapse back on the bed, scrubbing your palms against your eyes. The ache between your leg is more insistent than ever, and your eyes hurt. They always do after you dream about Jade. You miss her, and you wish she’d come home soon.

There’s only two days to go, and you’re still not ready.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a little dub-conny, and I'm sorry about that.
> 
> The next chapter is full of happy. ~~As happy as this fic can get.~~ I promise.

It’s Thursday.

That means it’s The Day.

You’re not ready. How could you be ready? How, exactly, are you supposed to go about preparing for getting it on with your brother/father figure? It doesn’t help that Bro’s the master of creepy weird sexual kinkytimes - you can’t imagine that someone who still actively runs a puppet porn site in the wake of a freshly remembered apocalypse is ‘vanilla’ by any definition of the term - and probably has more experience in his big toe than you have in your entire weird body. (You don’t want to think about that too much. That takes your mind down the road of foot fetishization, and while you know Bro is into some kinky shit, you definitely don’t want to go there.) 

Bro _also_ doesn’t seem to have any interest in making you more comfortable, and he makes that clear before you’re even awake. There’s a note tacked to the inside of your door (with a shuriken; batarangs are _so_ early 2000s) that greets you with bold black text.

Shower first, then wait in my room. Be ready.

How the _fuck_ does he expect you to be ready?

* * *

You stand in the shower so long that the water runs cold, and you remain there long after it’s like ice on your back. It doesn’t do anything to calm the bundle of nerves that’s bouncing around in your stomach and making you want to puke, but you still stay right there until you’re shaking. There’d be goosebumps, if you had any gooses to bump.

The cold _also_ does nothing to calm down what would definitely be a raging fear-boner, if you had the anatomy for it, and you press your hand between your legs for a second after the water turns off, as though hunger itself is enough to finally grant you the release you so desperately need (and then you wouldn’t have to spend your day at Bro’s mercy and how fucking _nice_ would that be). Your fingers rub restlessly at the soft span of flesh between pisshole and asshole until you’re trembling, and you’re on your knees and near-sobbing before you finally stop trying. 

There’s no way around it. If you want to ever know what satisfaction is again, this has to be done. You towel yourself off more vigorously than is probably necessary and bare your teeth at your reflection in the mirror. Dropping the towel, you step forward, bracing yourself against the sink. “Freak,” you whisper, drawing your lips back as you say the word, exposing teeth that look like they could belong to a normal guy, opening your mouth wide. It’s the only part of you that’s not fucked up, and your fingers curl against the sinkbasin, gripping it tightly. _Freak._

You shove yourself away from the sink and stalk out of the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed. Nearly everybody in the house is familiar with your weird bodyparts anyway.

 

The only one who isn’t is - of course! - the one who opens his bedroom door just as you’re striding past it. At least Dirk has the decency to hood his eyes with one hand (though the words he mumbles are definitely more along the lines of ‘the fuck is wrong with you’ than any sort of an apology) but you’re still sure you can feel his gaze on your back right up to the point where you're hesitating with your hand on Bro’s doorknob. You glance over your shoulder, as though pretending defiance at one of the not-Daves in the house will help you find some courage to face the other without wanting to piss yourself. But Dirk’s nowhere to be seen, and his bedroom door is still open. He’s probably in the kitchen. Probably didn’t give a second glance at you. Probably isn’t a pervert like you. (And Dave. And Bro. Maybe it’s only Striders from ~~your~~ Dave’s session that are fucked up. You wonder what Dirk’s older bro would think of your anatomy, and whether he’d offer to help you with your problem. You wonder if he’d be any more gentle than your Bro and whether he’d be just as fascinated as Dave. You wonder...)

You give your head a dogged shake, and push open the door.

The room beyond is filled with computer monitors and keyboards, with Bro’s bed tucked in a cramped space between wall and desk. There’s sunlight streaming through the slats on the venetian blinds, providing the only light in the room and drawing sharp lines over the rumpled sheets on the bed. The fact that those sheets are patterned with smuppets makes you snicker, even as you crawl onto them and drag some of them around you. Here you are, in your older brother/not-brother’s bedroom, preparing to lose whatever virginity it is you’ve got, and you’re gonna be getting your groove on with screen-printed red, orange, purple, blue and green plush rumps under you. What a fucking joke your life is.

Bro takes his damn time coming to relieve you of the stress pulsing through you; so long so that you’ve started to debating whether or not you should just make a nest out of his sheets and take a nap. The idea is decidedly fascinating; tearing this stupid smuppet-patterned cloth into ribbons and wrapping yourself up in it, maybe even tucking a few of the more colorful strips into your feathers. They’d make a nice decoration.

Remembering that you don’t, in fact, have feathers anymore sobers you up, and when the door to Bro’s door finally creaks open, you’re damn near sulking in the center of his bed, shivering with either nervousness or cold, you’re not sure which. The light is dim enough that you can’t quite make out his face, and he remains silent the doorway long enough that you feel like you could scream.

When he breaks the silence you let out a shuddering sigh of relief, one that’s heavy enough that it obscures what he says. When he continues to stare at you expectantly, you swallow, feeling your ears redden, and drop your gaze. “Uh. What?”

“I said, did you shower, you filthy fuckin’ birdboy?”

The heat moves from your ears to your cheeks, and you drop your gaze. “Y-yeah.”

The bed shifts when he sits down next to you. “Good. You ready?”

You look up at him. You’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life, and you hate it. “God, no.” You laugh shortly, but it doesn’t do anything to lighten the mood. “So let’s get on with it.”

He’s studying you intently, and he purses his lips. For a moment, you think he’s going to tell you no, to tell you to get out and fuck off, and you’re all sorts of prepared to flee from beneath his studious gaze and forget that this had ever happened, but when he shakes his head he also reaches for your wrist. “Alright then.”

At first, you think he’s going to begin stroking your wrist the way you thought you should’ve when you tried to get yourself off using whatever this weird ‘sensation association’ thing was, but instead he tugs at you, pulling you within reach of him and then dragging you into his lap. You shift to straddle him, facing him, but he shakes his head, shoving at your shoulder until you turn around the other way. “Figure watching me might not do you much good.”

His breath is hot against your ear, and you suck in another deep breath, trying to calm yourself. It doesn’t work. “O-okay.”

You remain there, in his lap, with your back against his chest, for (what feels like) a long time. He’s got his arms folded almost lazily around you, and his breathing is slow, even. Eventually, you squirm impatiently. “Come _on,_ Bro, I ain’t got all day.”

“You’ve got as long as I say you’ve got,” he answers, but his hands at least move. At least, one of them does. And it’s definitely heading between your legs. You want to slap his hand away. When two of his fingers press against your hole, you do shove at his hand, which prompts him to grab your wrist, guiding your hand to rest on his. “Don’t fight. You wanted this.” 

You shudder, shame burning hot in your cheeks. He’s right. You wanted this. “I shouldn’t,” you respond bitterly, and he chuckles behind you.

“Bit late for that.” His hand slips lower, applying firm pressure against your crotch. “Close your eyes.” 

You do. He spreads his hand, the heel of his palm digging against your skin just above the opening you’ve got in the front, fingers rubbing near the one you’ve got in the back. You stiffen, struggling to jerk away from his hand. “Not there,” you pant, pleading. Fuck, already you’re getting excited, and he hasn’t even done anything yet. 

He pauses, and you want to kick yourself. Why are you arguing? Like he said, you wanted this. You still do. (You think.) “Y’know, it’s probably a guaranteed get-off method.” He sounds skeptical of your no. You hate it.

“That’s if my anatomy works like yours,” you hiss in response. This time you _do_ squirm away from his hand, jerking your hips forward and against his palm. The pressure is nice enough to make your breath catch. “So far, everything ‘bout me says that it probably doesn’t.” 

His fingers remain there for a few more seconds.

“ _Please,_ Bro.” The pleas echoes in your ear and you hate yourself a little bit for them. “Please. Not there.”

The frustration he’s feeling is clear in the way he sighs, but he shifts his finger away from your ass all the same, stroking in long, slow movements over your front, rubbing his fingers against that soft patch of skin. “So the internet tells me crows have this thing called a cloaca.”

Whatever nice feelings you could be experiencing die with that word, and your stomach drops. “What?”

“A cloaca,” he continues, very matter-of-factly. His voice lowers, and you can almost feel his teeth against your ear when he speaks. “Think maybe your problem is you wanna get _fucked,_ little brother.”

God, you wish you could take back having ever agreed with this. You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, though. It’s easy to do so - his hand hasn’t stopped moving, fingers teasing your skin, rocking across that place where you ~~used to have a hole~~ should have a dick, and while you know it won’t ever be enough to get you off, it’s easier to let it just feel good than try and argue with Bro. 

That isn’t enough for him, though, and he’s got his pinkie pressing against your urethra when he speaks again. “You think that’s it?” He applies a little more pressure, and his finger is nearly inside you when you finally manage to choke out a response.

“No—fuck— _no,_ Bro, fuck, that aint’—” You jerk away from his hand while trying to find a way to keep the attention on the skin you want touched. “Just want you to _touch me,_ you fucking dick, just _please_ —”

There’s another laugh, one that’s blissfully unaware of the way your breath is hitching, and he finally leaves your holes alone. He continues, as though there’s nothing fucking awful or terrifying about what he’d just done. “Just want to be touched, huh?” Now he’s rubbing over your chest, holding you tight against him. 

The hand between your legs hasn’t stilled, and the way he’s moving makes your fear almost inconsequential. “Yeah,” you breathe, blinking back tears. Your legs spread almost without you telling them to, and you lean back against him, keeping your eyes closed. “Yeah, just touch me. Please.”

“Your wish is my command.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and it kicks up the nausea in your stomach, for him to be so sweet while he’s being such a fucking jerk. Still, he hasn’t stopped, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the sensation of _someone else_ between your legs, _someone else_ rubbing at that sweet spot.

He’s got you almost sobbing within a span of minutes, and he chuckles against you again. “You like the way I rub that little cunt, huh?”

The words make you freeze. Sure, you knew that sensation association meant dirtytalk, but that isn’t the sort of dirtytalk you want. 

He digs his fingers into your skin in a crude mockery of penetration. The skin there is sensitive but that almost hurts, and that’s the limit of what you can take. “Fuck this,” you hiss, shoving yourself away from him, stumbling as you slide off the bed. 

It doesn’t help that all he does is look amused when you scowl at him. “Y’know, the sooner you give in to what you really want, the sooner I can help you.”

You continue to glower at him, folding your arms over your bare chest, hugging yourself. “I don’t want your help.” You’re shivering and you know it. You feel every bit like an overreacting lover, and you hate it. You also hate that there’s still stirring between your legs, and you hate even more that all this has done is proven that you aren’t going to get what you want from him.

Bro smirks at you. “If you say so, DS.” He waves a hand at you, scooting to the end of the bed. “You know where the door is.”

You do. It’s behind you, and when you manage to get it between you and your asshole of a brother, you feel a hell of a lot safer, but no more less ashamed. With an exhalation that’s more shaky than steadying, you bury your face against your arm. “Fuck.”

You’ve done the shittiest thing you can think of, and all you do is feel worse for it.

The fuck are you going to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super apologies to the delay between updates! The past weekend has been insanely hectic. Fortunately, I'm going to be making it up to you. By posting another chapter today or tomorrow. Then we'll be back on the regular update schedule as of this thursday!
> 
> I was _initially_ going to post this at ten minutes to midnight thursday night, because I'm a huge jerk. I'm sad that it didn't work out that way.


	9. Chapter 9

Someone’s kicking your foot.

You look up from where you’re slumped into your ~~not~~ twin’s concerned face, and he offers you a hand. “C’mon. There’s better places to flip your shit than right here.”

You let him help you up and then follow him blindly from the place where you’d been slumped down the hall and into the safety of his room. Once you’re safely inside, he digs a bottle of apple juice out of his mini fridge and pitches it at you. You aren’t so shaken that your reflexes are shot; but you do fumble with the glass for a second before you manage to twist the lid off. Old habits die hard, and apple juice is made of fucking _gold._

He cracks his own juice as you take a swig of your own, and then he’s pitching your DS at you. It had been a joke, once upon a time—an orange DS for orange DS—but now you snag it from the air gratefully and throw yourself with full force on the bed, turning on the system. Dave’s no longer paying attention to you. He’s gone back to his computer, and is typing furiously away at something. Who knows what. Maybe one of his many blogs. It doesn’t really matter. This is exactly what you needed.

This time, the silence that permeates the air is a comfortable one, and eventually you snuggle under the blankets, the light of the handheld system the only thing illuminating your face until you pass out on the pillow.

* * *

When you wake back up, it’s because there’s a weight on the bed behind you, and Dave pauses when you stiffen, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Chill, it’s just me.”

You nod, relaxing slowly. Just Dave. Dave is Safe in ways that nobody else in the house could be. Dave is, after all, _you._

The arms that slip around you are familiar and comforting, and you don’t realize you’ve made a sound to go with the wet on your cheeks until those arms tighten around you, and you turn your face against the pillow until he’s no longer got a reason to be holding you close. When he goes to withdraw, you catch him by the wrists. For once, you want to keep him close. He obliges to your silent signal, pressing a little closer to you—close enough that you can feel that the only thing he’s wearing is boxers. “That bad, huh?” He asks wryly.

The laugh that escapes you is suffused with relief, and you roll onto your back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m just saying that Bro Strider ain’t on the top of my list when it comes to ‘experiences I’d like to repeat.’”

This time, both of you laugh, and when it dies away, he rests his hand on your chest. “I’m sorry it went like that,” he says finally. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” You shift your gaze to him. Being lit only by the city in the window behind you means the room is mostly muted hues of blue and grey, and even Dave’s bright eyes are barely more than a soft shade of burgundy. “Thanks, though.”

Dave shakes his head. “I shouldn’t’ve sent you to him in the first place. Classless, that’s what that was. We both know he’s not exactly the nice type.”

You roll your eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, that’s what you need. Right now, I mean.”

“What are you t— _Oh._ ”

Dave’s hand between your legs is a lot gentler than Bro’s. He’s watching your face when he rolls his thumb over your urethra, and when your hips give a little twitch and rock up against his palm, you watch his adam’s apple bob when he swallows. 

The silence in the room remains unbroken until he presses down on you with two fingers and you make an involuntary sound, and his lower lip disappears under his teeth. It’s a nice look, but you’re damn sure not going to say it. You’re too busy enjoying this. It feels _good,_ and he—unlike Bro—seems pretty content to follow your cues, his hand pumping against the sweet spot you’ve got between your legs, working you in soft circles, his body pressing close to yours.

“Didn’t know you could look so good,” he whispers against your ear, and if you weren’t blushing before, you definitely are now, and you turn your face against his shoulder, your cheek bumping his chin. 

“F-fuck you, dude,” you manage in response. Fuck, your entire body is humming with tension, and it _won’t stop._ It’s not close enough. It’s too far, and you choke on a soft, frustrated sound. “I wish I could just fuckin’ _enjoy this_.”

His hand stills, and you actually moan in frustration. Stopping was not what you were looking for. “You ain’t enjoying this?”

Bless your lookalike for the worry in his voice. You sigh, pressing a little closer to him and fixing your gaze pointedly on his chest, bowing your head against it. “I mean, it ain’t like it’s gonna be enough. You think I haven’t spent a few hours working myself like this?” You laugh. There’s no humor in it. “No, this is not the one-stop Orgasm shop. That isn’t the right button combination. Check the manual, try again.”

“Huh.” He sounds perplexed. After a few seconds, though, he’s moving, and you look up, startled. You continue to watch him until it’s clear where he’s going, and when he pushes your legs apart, you stiffen. 

“Dave—”

“ _Chill._ ” He rubs your thighs gently in a manner he clearly hopes will be soothing. “Let me try something.”

You’re not about to protest. This is the best that it’s ever been, and even if it isn’t what gets you, you’re still enjoying this. Honestly, you’re a little touched. You didn’t know Dave gave this much of a shit. You didn’t know that he could be this cool with messing around with your weird anatomy.

You didn’t know he was so fucking daring.

His tongue is warm and it makes you jump. He slips it up your soft skin and you gasp when it hits your pisshole. “Oh, _fuck...._ ” You try to muffle your moan with the back of your hand, but it doesn’t do any good - and when he works his way back down, you slip one hand into his hair. When he applies suction you tighten your grip, your free hand twisted in the sheet covering the pillow under your head. Then he _moves_ and you nearly sob, bucking desperately up against his mouth. “Fuck, _fuck,_ feels so fucking _good..._ ”

When he introduces his fingers and begins rubbing between his licking and sucking you give up on words, riding hungrily, eagerly against his face. He’s making all sorts of little encouraging sounds between your legs, little ‘mmhmm’s and ‘yeah’s, and it’s sweet fucking music, listening to how ragged with need his own voice is while he works at you. Fuck, you’re close. _Fuck,_ you’re _so fucking close._ You can almost feel it. You’re _almost there._

Eventually, though, you shove at his head, collapsing back on the bed and fighting for breath. You’re so close and you’re not getting any closer and it hurts. “That’s enough.” You can hear your own agony in the words. “It ain’t...ain’t gonna happen.”

He’s sitting up, and you watch him wipe his mouth through half-lidded eyes. “You sure? You seemed pretty into it.” He sounds just as breathless as you, and you’re pretty sure if you flick your gaze down, you’ll be rewarded with the sight of a tent in Dave Strider’s boxers. You let your eyes drop and—

Oops. No, you get way more than that—you get an eyeful of pierced dick sticking out of the hole in the front, pre already dribbling from the head and the skin looking almost swollen, jacob’s ladder gleaming in the half-light. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you murmur. Already, your own arousal is becoming a distant memory. You sit up, crawling over to him. It’s probably pretty bold to just shove your hand between his legs; but his face was just between yours, so who’s to judge? “But you can still get off.”

He tenses up as you close the distance between you, but when you slide your fingers over his dick, he actually moans. 

That’s all the encouragement you need, and you shift, so that it can be _your_ face between _his_ legs. He stops you when you try to move, though, and once again you’re looking up into the concerned face of one Dave Strider. “What?”

He frowns. “Ain’t fair to you, is it? That I get my jollies and you just suffer.”

You snort. “Dave.” You pat his chest in a way that’s almost patronizing. “Let at least one of us sleep peacefully, alright?”

“But—”

“Oh my god, you’re too self-sacrificing for your own good. _Shut up._ ” To emphasize your point, you drop your head and take his cock into your mouth, going down so far that you nearly gag. (One of your hands is curled into a fist around the blankets and you squeeze.) It’s not as hard to deep-throat him as you thought it would be, and you press a little further down, until your lips are nearly touching his sac.

He’s not arguing anymore. In fact, he’s doing something that’s almost the opposite of it. When you begin to move, he threads his fingers through your hair, and this time it’s him bucking up against your mouth and you making little muffled sounds of encouragement—but unlike him, you get the satisfaction of tasting him in your mouth, feeling him thick and heavy against your tongue, and when he tells you it feels so good it’s less than thirty seconds later that he’s shuddering beneath you and forcing you to swallow without any warning at all. 

Either you give a fantastic blowjob or he was _really turned on_ by going down on you. Either way, you’re good, you think, and it’s with smug pleasure that you crawl back into your spot on the bed. “Tell me that wasn’t awesome.”

He drags himself back to his place beside you. “Fuck yes it was,” he agrees, still a little winded (go ahead and add a +10 to your ego score, you’ve fucking earned it) “But that doesn’t make me any less of a shit for not getting you off.”

“Whatever.” You yawn. You’re absolutely beat. “Someday maybe the magical orgasm fairy will grant me my special spooge. Until then, I’ll just get you off. It’s basically the same level of satisfying.”

He laughs and says something else, but you don’t care. Sleep is already making your eyelids heavy, and by the time his arms find their place around you again, you’re almost snoring.

As far as ‘bad days’ go, you think you can count this one as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're back to our regular update schedule.
> 
> Thank you everyone who's been telling me how much they're enjoying this! It really does my heart good ~~and is definitely part of the reason I'm still going.~~ Reading comments is always, ALWAYS love.


	10. Chapter 10

\-- critiasCorroborated [CC] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
CC: So is he still holed up in your room?  
CC: Because I cleared two whole days off my schedule and it’s time for him to get a move on.  
CC: Tell him to pull his little birdie head out of his little birdie ass and come the fuck on.  
CC: If we’re doing this, then I’d like to get started.  
CC: I didn’t have all day yesterday, and I definitely don’t have all day today.  
TG: whoa you need to hold your horses there pal  
TG: go ahead and grab the reins on all that shit and just pull back real slow  
TG: this isnt the kentucky derby of davesprite’s sexual awakening so you can go ahead and close the gates  
TG: there is no blanket of roses thats gonna get draped over your proud-ass shoulders when you tumble panting past the finish line  
TG: no triple crown to name you the fastest strider in fuckdom  
TG: so calm down okay  
TG: yes he is still holed up in my room  
TG: and no it isnt your business how long hes gonna be here  
TG: hes taking a break from being the freakshow everyone gawks at  
TG: catching some much-needed beauty rest  
TG: so whatever marathon you had planned is canceled due to inclement asshole behavior on your part  
CC: Excuse me?  
TG: look i dont know what you said or did but i do know that my bird-headed brother was shuddering in your doorway when i got home  
TG: usually behavior like that is the result of you being you  
TG: i e a huge fucking cockbite  
CC: Look, if he couldn’t handle what was going on, it’s his own fault for not saying so.  
CC: It isn’t like I held him down and had my way with him.  
CC: I let him go, I gave him his space, and now I’m telling you: clock’s ticking.  
CC: If he wants to figure this out, it’s time to get back in the ring.  
TG: so message him yourself and see if hes ready to come running  
CC: You know I tried that.  
CC: Just like I know he’s probably still asleep in your bed.  
CC: Did you boys have fun last night?  
CC: Work out some of that latent teen aggression on each other?  
TG: uh  
TG: what  
CC: Maybe you should just make _extra_ sure your door is latched before you get your freak on, kiddo.  
CC: But hey, it’s all cool.  
CC: I’m not going to judge you for getting your jollies off on your poor twin.  
CC: It **is** kind of shitty of you, though.  
CC: After all, you got yours.  
CC: And what’s our poor sodapop left to do?  
TG: well  
TG: not go running back to you if thats what youre looking for  
CC: Look, I’m just trying to help.  
CC: You don’t want my help, just say so.  
TG: okay then heres a big sign for you:  
TG: we dont want your help  
TG: go get your kicks by torturing some other fuckers  
CC: Now, now.  
CC: It isn’t torture when it’s family.  
CC: It’s _training._  
TG: look  
TG: you kicked the bucket before we even scratched the first session  
TG: you werent on the lillypad when we opened the final door  
TG: unlike every other strider in this house  
TG: so who is it who needs training again  
TG: because it damn sure isnt me or dirk or DS  
CC: This is a lot of big talk coming from a scrawny little asshole who relies on my good will to keep the roof over his head.  
CC: I’ll let it slide, though.  
CC: I understand you’re a little emotional right now.  
CC: But don’t think I’m gonna be so generous next time.  
CC: If you don’t want my help, that’s fine.  
CC: I’ve got better shit to do than try and figure out my weird kid bro’s fucked-up body.  
CC: Good luck with that little problem and don’t come crying to me when all this shit blows up in your face.  
  
\-- critiasCorroborated [CC] began ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things: One, short chapters happen and I'm aware that I'm the worst.  
> Two, complications have begun to happen and now the updates are going to be weekly. Apologies for that. Glad you're enjoying this!


	11. Chapter 11

There’s a rapid staccato knock at your bedroom door.

You groan, hauling yourself out of bed. You don’t know who you were expecting when you opened your bedroom door, but it definitely was _not_ the younger of the two assholes in the house that wears pointy shades. 

Dirk stares down at you, and you stare up at him. Once the silence has grown uncomfortable, he clears his throat. “You gonna let me in, or is your room gonna remain some impenetrable fortress that is closeted to my presence?”

You can feel the tips of your ears darkening. “Uh. Sure.” Swallowing, you step out of his way, and he saunters past you, to take up residence at the foot of your bed, shuffling his phone out of his pocket and beginning to tap away at it. You turn to watch him as he sits down, and when he does, you close the door, leaning against it. Clearly he means to be here for a second. Dirk’s never been in your room before, and he already looks like he’s settling in. You wish you could ask what this is about.

You know what this is about.

Fortunately, he’s focused more on his phone instead of you, and that makes you feel at least a little like he’s not here just for the novelty of it. “I’ve heard about your problem,” he begins, “And I think I might be able to help you.” 

You snort. “Yeah, you and the whole rest of the world.” Slowly, you peel yourself away from the door, slouching across the room and into your computer chair. “Even the almighty Bro Strider has failed in the Quest to Solve Davesprite’s Problem.” You almost make airquotes around the words, but think better of it. He’s still not looking at you. Not like it’d do any good.

This time, it’s his turn to make a derisive sound, and when he looks up at you over the rim of his glasses, you note that the orange of his eyes is a lot brighter than the burnished amber that the older Dirk has. It catches you off-guard. (Would your eyes be the same red as Dave’s, if you weren’t all fucked up? Would the older Dave’s eyes be a different hue?) “You really think he had all the answers? That guy couldn’t think his way out of a wet bag, if the bag belonged to someone else.”

You blink. “What?”

He huffs out a sigh. “If it isn’t his problem, he doesn’t care about fixing it.” He holds up his phone, and you lean forward, peering at the screen. On the display is a set of tapered, slightly curved silvery rods laid out in a row on some red velvet, each one a little bigger than the one next one. The smallest one looks smaller than a pencil, with the biggest looking to be a little thicker than your thumb. “Do you know what these are?”

You sit back, studying him warily. You’re pretty sure you know where this is going. “Not a clue.”

He looks almost pleased with himself, turning back to his phone. “They’re sounding rods.” A few more taps, and he shows you another picture. It’s the same basic setup, except these are straight, with a flat bulb on one end. Another few taps, and he shows you another set that have a sharper curve than the first set. “Do you know what that means?”

“I can make a guess.” Already, you can feel your cheeks burning, and you shift uncomfortably. You can’t help it; you’re already thinking about the idea of something being shoved in your pisshole. At least, you assume that’s what they’re for—they don’t look like any ass toys that you’ve ever seen, and you can’t imagine any other reason for him to be showing you long metal things. Not when talking about your ‘problem’. “I don’t know how chill I’d be with it.”

He sets his phone down, leaning back on his elbows and studying you. “Why not?”

There’s a flash of a memory—Bro’s finger, scraping inside you, the soreness that you’d felt for days afterwards—and you shiver. “I haven’t really had good experiences with. Uh. That sort of thing.”

There’s a slight frown on his face. “From what I’ve heard, you don’t have any experience at all. What are you talking about?” When you don’t immediately respond, he sits up, his frown deepening . “Did Bro—”

You cut him off, waving away his concern. “It was only for a sec, and probably just to try and figure out my weird-ass anatomy. Anyway, it hurt.” You give your head a dogged shake, shoving the memory back down. Dirk still looks an awful lot like someone just kicked him, and you want to change that. “It’s not like he was trying to be a dick, or anything. It’s cool.”

That doesn’t _quite_ chase away the unpleasant expression on Dirk’s face, but it’s the best you’ve got, and he knows it. “Any penetration hurts if you don't do it right. I figured you were trying to avoid that. If you weren’t, a good bout of ass-fuckery would probably set you right as rain.”

 _Ugh._ The idea of anal still sounds gross, and you shake your head. “I doubt it.”

“You never know.” He shrugs. “And it’s almost inconsequential. This isn’t anal. And penetration is really all you’ve got left. Plus, I did some research. On crows, specifically. And I think that this might be the best bet to achieve the sensation you’re looking for.”

God, he says it so casually. Like it isn’t a big deal that you’d rather be fucked than be the one doing the fucking. Like your screwed-up anatomy is just something that can be reduced to _facts_. “Dude, I’m not a _bird._ ” There’s more heat in your voice than there should be, but you can’t help it. He’s making it all seem so fucking trivial.

He studies you, unperturbed. “No, but you were one for a good chunk of time before we made it here. Would you rather I made you some sort of prosthesis? I doubt I could wire it in a way that would give you any sensation.” There’s another shrug. “The goal, I thought, was to get you off. Not fix whatever’s going on up here.” He taps the side of his skull. “If I’m mistaken, though...”

You’re shaking your head without even realizing it. Dirk’s right. Regardless of how you feel about your lack of a dick, that isn’t what’s got you squirming at night. “If I can even _get_ off,” you mutter. “At this point, I don’t think it’s possible.” As you finish speaking, you see Dirk pause. You know what he’s about to say, and you put an end to it before he even gets his mouth open. “And _no,_ anal ain’t on the table. Not...not yet,” you concede. “I mean, if we’re getting it all out there. I’m not...ready for that.” Admitting it makes your chest and cheeks warm.

It doesn’t faze Dirk at all. Instead, he nods, as though that’s exactly what he expected. “So, do you want to try these, then?” He taps his phone. The set of sounding rods is no longer visible— the screen’s gone dark—but you know what he means, all the same.

“I don’t know.” You’re chewing on your lower lip hard enough that when you realize it, you’re surprised you don’t taste blood. “I mean...shit, do you even know anyone who has any experience with this?” Bro doesn’t, you don’t think. If he did, you’re sure he would have said something. 

Or maybe not, because your question has _Dirk’s_ cheeks turning red, and he clears his throat. “I might know a thing or two.” There’s a pause. “About it, I mean.”

You’d been slouching in the chair. Now you sit up. This is something you weren’t expecting. “As in....” When he doesn’t immediately pick up the end of your sentence, you prompt him to continue. “You like watching or doing?”

“Uh.” He coughs. “Probably both. I’ve done it to myself. I’ve never gotten to do it to anyone else.” He smiles wryly. “Jake doesn’t— _didn’t_ really do that sort of kink.” 

The mention of Dirk’s erstwhile boyfriend makes you wince. Dirk might be the quietest of the Strider quartet that resides in the apartment, but you’d all known when Jake had decided it was time for him to get out of the city. Dirk hadn’t left his room for weeks, and it had taken Bro going in there to get him back out and social. 

You’re sorry you’d managed to bring it up. “Have you ever had someone watch you?” You ask, desperate to get his mind off of Jake. 

It works. “No.” The melancholy begins to clear from his expression, and he raises both of his brows at you. “Do you want to?” 

You’d thrown the question out there as a desperate attempt to change the subject; but now that you’re thinking about it, you’re warming to the idea. It’s strange and weird (and, honestly, a little scary; all of your holes are supposed to be ‘exit only’), and the idea of seeing someone do it In Real Life is appealing. The fact that he’s related to you comes as an afterthought, and it’s one you disregard. God, you’re fucked up. “Yeah, maybe.”

He must be just as fucked up, though, because he only considers the idea for a few seconds before nodding. You wonder if it runs in the Strider bloodline. “I think that’d be okay.” His lips quirk upwards in an almost-smile. “But no touching, alright? It’d be easier if I could...pretend my ecto-bio bro wasn’t the one watching me jerk it.”

Your eyes slide to your monitor. Specifically, to the webcam attached to your monitor. “I don’t have to be in the room,” you suggest helpfully.

He follows your gaze. Now the smile on his lips is appreciative. “I like the way you think, DS. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

You feel like you should be offended, but you’re not. Instead, there’s a happy sort of satisfaction spreading through you. You try to squash it down, though. He isn’t Bro, and even Bro has proven that he isn’t exactly worthy of the praises you sing of him. “So um. When do you want to do this?”

“When do you?”

“Now?” You laugh uncomfortably, and when he begins to nod, you throw up your hands, shaking your head. “I’m kidding. Uh...give me a day or two, okay?” You wet your lips, suddenly aware that your breath is coming shallower than you’d like. “Let me, y’know, wrap my head around it.”

Dirk nods, rising from your bed. “Take your time.” He claps his hand on your shoulder on his way out the door. “Remember, unlike that asshole?” He jerks his head in the direction of Bro’s room. “I actually _am_ here to help.”

“Right.” You smile with a thankfulness you don’t quite feel. Dirk might seem nicer than Bro, but they’re still the same person at the core, aren’t they? Still, at least he seems to be genuinely trying. “I won’t forget.”

He nods again, and he pauses in the doorway to actually give you a lazy salute. “Just message me. I won’t force you through another awkward face-to-face just for the sake of getting a show. Cool?”

“Cool.”

The door clicks shut, and you swivel in your chair, letting your fingers fly over the keys. _Sounding._ Time to see what this is all about.


	12. Chapter 12

When you’re done watching red-faced boys play with sounding rods, you rise from your desk and throw yourself on your bed. You’ve already got your phone out before you even hit the mattress. Because who, exactly, should you turn to when you’re feeling pretty weird about the weird things your weird not-brother is suggesting you do?

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

AT: so youll never guess who hit my doorway this morning  
AT: all casual and everything like hes some magic strider genie here to grant me three wishes  
AT: whats your first wish DS  
AT: can you magically give me a dick i asked  
AT: sorry i cant make you fall in love thats against genie code  
TG: dirk isnt a genie  
TG: hes more like one of those weird trolls that hide under bridges  
TG: bring him the right things and hell give you the secret trinket that grants you all that you have ever desired  
AT: are you the one who sent genie-cum-troll dirkleton robomaster strider to my room  
AT: because if you did i gotta tell you the lack of warning probably violates every brotherly code to ever exist  
AT: pretty sure rule 1 is ‘let your twin know if youre sending your weird ectobrother over his way’  
TG: at this point we are well beyond brotherly code  
TG: no i did not send him to you  
TG: why would i have to it isnt like youre hard to find  
TG: what did he need special directions  
TG: yes if you travel all the way down the hall and find the One True Door and knock seventeen times you will summon a davesprite

Honestly, you are getting so fucking _sick_ of everyone being so cavalier about your issue, and you’re surprised Dave hasn’t caught on to that yet.

It isn’t a joke, and you wish your family would stop treating it like it is.

AT: look there is way too many mythology magical fairyworld metaphors being thrown around so lets go ahead and put an end to that  
AT: this isnt some tolkien novel or a bad D&D campaign this is my ridiculous fucked-up life  
AT: seriously i should get a special miniseries on TLC  
AT: The Boy Who Couldnt Cum  
AT: watch as we explore through incest how embarrassed we can actually make this kid about his anatomically incorrect genitals  
AT: how deep into kink hell can we get before he finally taps out  
TG: yeah okay  
TG: what weird kink is featured on this weeks episode  
AT: you ever heard of sounding  
TG: well  
TG: as i have indeed been on the internet for more than three days  
TG: the answer is a resounding (ha ha) yes  
AT: well ive never heard of it  
TG: what do you even do with that hunk of electronics in your room  
TG: because it definitely isnt trawling the internet or educating yourself on all the ways the human race has found to do sex  
TG: did you know some people actually go out of their way to achieve the anatomy youve been granted by weird accident

What.

AT: _what_  
TG: its called ‘nullification’  
TG: look it up have a blast  
AT: first of all no  
AT: second of all hell no  
AT: third of all spend a good three or four years of your life as part of a computer program and then tell me just how comfortable you are with spending long amounts of time using a computer  
TG: we played the same Game dude

You shift uncomfortably, feeling like you should be hiding your face. This is _not_ a conversation you want to have.

AT: i didnt play the game i _was_ the Game  
AT: and now if i sit too long in front of a computer it makes my brain itch with code  
TG: oh  
AT: yeah ‘oh’  
AT: anyway why the hell are you even looking up nullification or whatever it is  
TG: the casual term is nullo  
AT: eugh  
TG: look i was just trying to help  
AT: isnt that the name of everyones game nowadays  
AT: next up watch dave strider himself spin the wheel  
AT: maybe hell hit the jackpot and the legendary orgasm will be achieved  
AT: or maybe it will remain lost in mythos  
AT: the ever-sought powerball  
AT: nobodys got this combination of numbers dave  
AT: nobody  
TG: well according to the internet thats actually not true  
AT: what are you talking about  
TG: turns out the human body can definitely get off even without any bits to play with  
TG: just a matter of hitting the right combination of stimuli

You sit up in your bed, your heart leaping into your throat. Immediately, you try to swallow it back down. He’s talking about _regular people_ lacking anatomy. There’s nothing ‘regular’ about you. There’s no reason to get your hopes up.

AT: that assumes my insides work the way everyone elses do  
AT: and theres no way to know that not really  
TG: well i think it does honestly  
TG: youve got some sort of nerves down there  
TG: the sort that makes your body get all worked up even  
TG: if you didnt then touch wouldnt do anything for you  
TG: and unless you were playing up your reactions just to protect my oh so delicate ego then im pretty sure youve got something to work with  
TG: if people who dont have anything external to work with can hit it then it makes sense that youd be able to too

It sounds too good to be true. 

In your experience, that means it probably is, and you don’t want to talk about it.

AT: yeah well we will see  
AT: the whole thing is seriously starting to delve into weird and scary territory  
TG: sounding isnt all that scary  
TG: as long as youre careful  
TG: have you looked up the pertinent stuff  
TG: found some handy how-tos  
TG: shit youve ordered a set of sounds right  
TG: you shouldnt be trying it with anything that isnt at least stainless steel  
AT: actually uh  
AT: dirk offered to help me out there

Dave takes a minute to respond, and you can feel your pulse picking up. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him. The fact that you’ve spent four of your past five nights in his room doesn’t mean you two have some special connection, or that he wants to hear about all your weird problems and the solutions you’re seeking out, right?

Your phone buzzes when you’ve thrown your arm over your eyes, and you peer at the words, chewing on your lower lip nervously.

TG: are you sure about this  
TG: i mean it isnt like you really know him that well

Is he... _worried_ about you? You weren’t expecting that.

AT: i think so  
AT: i mean im definitely keeping my distance a little bit  
AT: he might not be bro but he still _is_ bro you know  
TG: actually hes not really bro at all  


That makes the bottom of your stomach drop out. You were sure you’d known what you were getting into. 

AT: that doesnt make any sense though  
TG: well to begin with dirks love of puppets and ponies and anime isn’t ironic  
TG: not even a little  
AT: holy fuck  
TG: the guy grew up in the middle of the ocean with nobody around  
TG: maybe theyve got some of the same interests but  
TG: they arent even close to the same person  


You sit back and let that sink in. 

TG: so im gonna ask you again  
TG: are you sure about this  
AT: well he offered to let me watch him first  
AT: do you think i shouldnt trust him  
TG: i didnt say that  
TG: dirks actually really excellent  
TG: hes just hard to get a read on sometimes  
TG: i honestly couldnt tell you if hes interested in the whole thing because its a puzzle he wants to solve a challenge he wants to beat or because he actually gives a shit  
TG: whatever it is i dont think he will turn out to be a raging dick if thats what youre asking  
TG: we are not going to have bad times 2: return of the bro the sequel  
TG: im just asking because last i checked penetration was a big no-no in your world  
AT: yeah well  
AT: im running out of options and i am not going to lie  
AT: desperation is definitely becoming a thing  
TG: theres a good name for your tv miniseries  
TG: The Desperation of Davesprite  
TG: how far will he go  
TG: what wacky hijinks will ensue  
AT: tune in next week to see the dramatic climax  
AT: except next week never comes and the show gets canceled and the audience is left wondering if he ever found what he was seeking  
TG: and will he  
AT: we just dont know

You can’t help it; you’re snickering. 

AT: you know it would be fucking hilarious if it wasnt happening to me  
TG: yeah well so would most tragedy  
AT: on a serious note do you think this thing with dirk is a bad idea  
TG: honestly probably not but i can also tell you that the idea of sticking a rod down my dick doesnt sound even slightly appealing  
TG: heres to hoping the actual act is nicer than it sounds  
AT: yeah

You sigh, closing your eyes. It’s getting late, and sleep is making your lids heavy.

Your phone buzzes.

TG: you coming to sleep in here tonight  
TG: because if you are you better hurry im about three minutes away from dreamland  
AT: nah i think ill keep this bed warm all on my own tonight  
TG: alright then  
TG: night  
AT: night dude

\--\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

You lay there for a few more minutes, before opening the chat again.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

AT: hey  
AT: thanks  
TG: ugh dont make it gay mikasa  
TG: but seriously anytime okay  
TG: our lives have been fucked up enough without you having to do this shit alone

\--\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Things I considered :** going on hiatus after posting this chapter.  
>  **Things I am not doing :** that.
> 
> Also, you can't tell me that post-Game Dave wouldn't be a huge fan of TeamFourStar. I mean, you could, but you'd be wrong.


	13. Chapter 13

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

AT: so is this a bad time  
TT: Not at all, actually.  
TT: I was about to hop in the shower.  
AT: oh okay

You pause, feeling strangely awkward as you ease into your computer chair.

AT: and then after that do we just  
AT: you know  
TT: That's the plan.  
  
You scrub at your eyes, blinking at the screen. 

AT: ugh hold on  
  
\-- atomicTangerine [AT] is now atomicTangerine [AT] \--  
  
AT: thats so much better  
AT: now at least i can read this  
TT: Ingenious.  
TT: Thank you.  
AT: that was giving me a headache  
AT: so is that it then  
AT: no more talking we just jump into it  
TT: Is there anything else we need to discuss?  
TT: Because this seems pretty cut and dry, at least on my end.  
TT: You messaged me, and I can’t think of any other reason you’d have to message me.  
TT: Unless you had some sudden interest in talking about our mutual interests.  
TT: Which seems pretty unlikely.  
AT: youve got me there  
TT: Yeah, I figured as much.  
TT: We can attempt the brotherly bonding once we’ve figured this out.  
TT: One massive undertaking at a time, right?  
AT: yeah  
AT: sure  
TT: Glad we’re on the same page.  
AT: so uh  
AT: what do i do now  
TT: You hit ‘accept’ when the incoming video call blinks up on your screen.  
TT: And maybe make sure your door is locked, so our Favorite Brother doesn’t get his jollies off on you being uncomfortable and me being pornographic.

You reach over and flip the lock on your door. 

AT: thats it?  
TT: That’s it.  
TT: Here to help.  
TT: As in, _actually_ help.  
TT: Part of that means helping you be as at ease as you possibly can be.  
TT: So relax, and I’ll hit you up when I’m done washing the stink off my body.

\--\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

* * *

Relax, he said.

That doesn’t make you any less wound up when the computer finally begins making the bipping noises that indicate an incoming call. Nervously, you click ‘answer’, unsure of what you’re going to see.

The first thing you get is a faceful of glistening abs, and you are simultaneously impressed with your monitor’s quality and resisting the urge to avert your eyes. You feel like you’re watching something you shouldn’t, and it takes real effort to keep watching the screen.

That feeling only intensifies when Dirk sits down. His hair is also still damp, and you realize with a start that he’s not wearing his glasses, which is a level of intimacy you weren’t prepared for. (The realization almost makes you laugh—you’re here to watch him jack off, but it’s the lack of _glasses_ that feels too intimate.) He’s not watching the screen, though; his gaze is lifted, and the image is shifting, indicating that he’s adjusting the camera, and after a few seconds, the camera dips lower, giving you a good shot of his chest. Once it’s finally at an angle he’s pleased with, he pushes back from the desk a little bit—and now the video you’re watching shows you part of his face and his torso—all the way down to his lap. _The main event,_ you think, aware of how excited you are. Honestly, you’re a little disgusted at the amount of butterflies in your stomach; but you reason that there’s a lot of different things about this that could be exciting. Watching someone get sounded. Watching someone jack off. Knowing they’re jacking off just for you. ~~Knowing it’s Dirk.~~

You push your latent attraction to your brother (and, apparently, all iterations of his physical form) away and try and focus on what’s happening in front of you. He’s not fully hard, but he’s definitely getting there, and you swallow when you realize he’s palming himself eagerly, stroking at his cock without hesitation. He’s not wasting any time.

The first rod that he brings into view isn’t the smallest one, which is surprising, for some reason. Of _course_ he wouldn’t be on the smallest one, you think. He said he was into this. This definitely isn’t his first time. The size is still a little surprising, and you lick your lips as he slathers it with lube. He also lubes the head of his dick, and you actually wince when he presses the tip of his pinkie against his hole. You’re half-expecting him to straight up shove his finger into his dick, and you’re pretty sure the sight alone would hurt.

He doesn’t. What he _does_ do is carefully situate the smaller end of the tapered, curvy rod against his urethra, wrapping his other hand around the base of his cock. Being able to see the bottom half of his face means you notice when he sucks his lower lip between his teeth upon beginning to ease the sound into his cock. He eases almost the entire sound into his cock before withdrawing it, and he does so slowly, taking careful time. The second pass goes a little faster, and the third one makes him catch his breath. However, after only about four pumps, he withdraws it, and it disappears off-camera. The next rod is a little bigger, and this time he isn't as slow when he first eases it down into his hole. By the time he's gone through four rods, there's next to no hesitation when he first guides the metal into his shaft. Four seems to be the magic number, because that's the one that makes his breath stutter when he starts to move it. When he actively starts to fuck his pisshole with the sounding rod, he actually _moans_.

Your hand is between your legs and you don’t remember putting it there.

After a few minutes of fast fucking Dirk slows down, almost lazily riding the rod into himself. It’s clear that either he’s forgotten you’re watching or he doesn’t care, because he’s definitely just enjoying himself at this point: he’s fondling his sac, rubbing at balls and base with playful, sloppy caresses. Each panted breath is a self-satisfying sound, little ‘mmm’s and ‘aah’s that make you blush to hear. Your own hand is moving in vague echoes of what you’re watching and you’re barely aware of it, because while it feels _good_ watching definitely feels _better,_ and you’re way more enthralled in the show you’re getting than whatever you’ve got going on between your thighs.

After a few more seconds he withdraws the sound he’d been using (complete with a shuddery little sigh, and you gulp air to try and steady your breathing) and replace it with one that looks almost twice as big. You’re sure your eyes are playing tricks on you, but this time the going is a _lot_ slower, and it’s accompanied with expressions that are almost winces. When he reaches the depth he’s clearly going for, he whispers something that sounds an awful lot like _ah, fuck_ and he remains still for a second. You realize that his thighs are quivering and his breath is coming in shallow, gasping pants.

You’re just as still as he is, your eyes glued to the screen.

When the rod begins to move, his cock twitches, and he groans. He’s still taking it slow, easing it carefully out of his urethra. There’s a pause, and he reaches off-screen. His hand comes back into view slathered with lube, and he rubs it liberally over the rod before sliding it back down. "Fuck," he says again, the word equal parts agony and desire. The too-big rod is taken away, and for a brief moment your only sight is Dirk, chest heaving and cock twitching as he squeezes idly at it.

The newest rod has a thick bulb on one end of it, almost like a handle and while it isn't as thick as the one before it, it's still big enough that you almost flinch when he begins to fit it into his urethra. This one is clearly the size he wants, though, because the sound he makes is so pleased you almost echo it. The start is slow but this time the buildup is not, and he lets his head rock back as he once again begins fucking his cock with the steel rod. 

You’re pressing your fingers against your own pisshole, circling it, rubbing it. The sensation is both weirdly pleasant and slightly uncomfortable, and you don’t dare push yourself any further. This time, there’s no hesitation—he picks up speed until he’s steadily fucking himself, his hand rubbing at his cock in an unsteady rhythm. It isn’t until he starts actively working at his shaft that he slacks off with the rod, one motion slowing while the other picks up until the bulb at the tip of the sound is left to nestle against the head of his organ while he strokes and squeezes himself. Each time he tightens his fingers around his cock he groans, and you’re aware that you’re panting, leaning forward, your hand rocking against the soft skin between your legs, rubbing yourself fruitlessly as he pumps hungrily at his cock. He’s grunting, now, one hand working his shaft while the other flits between caressing his balls and tugging at the sound, lifting it up and then releasing it, letting it slide back without any guidance. That’s the motion you’re most focused on—the metal sliding in and out of his cock, the gasped cry that accompanies the bulb thumping against his glans, and he’s practically whimpering when he finally stiffens, jerking up into his hands, his cum spurting around the sound and dribbling down over his fingers. You’re dimly aware that you’re muffling your own sound with the heel of your hand and that your own hips shudder forward when he cums, and you nearly weep when he sags back, because there’s nothing, _nothing_ about what just happened that’s given you any satisfaction, and you’re so turned on it _hurts._  
  
You pull your hand from between your legs, struggling to catch your breath as he reaches out with one slightly trembling hand and tilts the camera up, to give you a view of his flushed, satisfied expression. Fortunately, he’s decent enough to not ask you to speak; instead, his fingers fly over the keys with way more accuracy than they should, considering what had just happened.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

TT: So what do you think?

The smile on your face feels shaky and you know your expression must be desperate, because your fingers are also trembling when you set them to type.

AT: i think if you dont do that to me within the week ill set your whole room on fire

That surprises a laugh out of him, and he’s still chuckling when he responds.

TT: Sounds good.  
TT: Shoot me a message when you’re ready.  
AT: im ready right fucking now

Another smirk, and he shakes his head.

TT: I’m gonna need a minute.  
TT: A few of them.  
TT: Plus, I need to sterilize my sounds.  
TT: So it’ll be at least tomorrow.  
AT: tomorrow sounds good  
AT: ill clear my schedule  
TT: Okay.  
TT: But don’t be afraid to let me know if you change your mind.

He snaps his fingers at you until you look up, so you can see the serious expression on his face. Slowly, you nod, and he sits back, satisfied.

TT: Cool.  
TT: I’m going to go get cleaned up.

\--\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

The camera winks off, and you stand up, taking a few steps to collapse on your bed. Your arousal is abating— _slowly_ —and it’s damned hard not to think about what’s going to happen tomorrow.

It’s going to be a long, long night if you can’t find a way to distract yourself.


	14. Chapter 14

It isn’t the next day, because the next day you’re too nervous to message Dirk.

It isn’t the day after, either; because then you’re thinking way, _way_ too hard about how it’s gonna feel when it’s you on the receiving end of it.

The day after that, though, you give up and message him. This time, you think to change your color before you hit him up.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

AT: okay but what if it hurts  
TT: Then we try something else, and go from there.  
TT: Also, good morning and how are you, I slept pretty good, weird dreams but that’s typical.  
TT: If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were using me for your own selfish desires.  
TT: The least you could do is make me breakfast, jeez.

Your brain damn near short-circuits. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

AT: uh  
TT: I’m fucking with you.  
TT: Jokes.  
TT: They’re a thing.  
TT: I’m full of them.  
TT: Why do you think it’s gonna hurt?

You sag with relief. Dave said he wasn’t Bro, but that meant you were completely unprepared for his particular brand of fuckery, and you’re glad that he can’t see how flustered the little exchange had gotten you.

AT: well for one its supposed to be an out-only area  
TT: Theoretically, so is the ass; but the most sensitive bundle of nerves a guy’s got is back there and just a couple inches in.  
TT: Either shitting is supposed to get us off or we’re meant to enjoy getting fucked.  
AT: i guess this is where you tell me that theres a similar situation going on up front  
TT: Not necessarily, but I am going to tell you to be open to new things.  
AT: okay but what if the only reason you like it is because youve got  
AT: yknow all that other sensitive stuff up there  
TT: Maybe.  
TT: My pisstube is wrapped pretty tidily in some tender muscle that is damn fun to tug at.  
TT: But males of the species aren’t the only ones to get off on sounding.

_That’s_ news. You hadn’t come across any videos of girls being sounded.

...But then, you hadn’t looked very hard, had you?

TT: Hey, there’s nothing that says you’ve got to.  
TT: But if you want to, my door’s open and everything’s ready to go.

You swallow.

AT: thanks

\--\-- atomicTangerine [AT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

As you close the messenger program, you close your eyes and groan. You suspect you’re developing a crush on Dirk, and that isn’t going to go well.

* * *

It’s almost three hours later before you finally make it out of your room and across the hall to his. Your knuckles have barely drummed across the wood when the door opens just a crack. For a few seconds, you stand there awkwardly.

"You coming in or not?" His voice comes from somewhere beyond the door, and you almost jump. Swallowing, you push the door the rest of the way open. He’s sitting on the bed, with wires strewn about him and a screwdriver clamped between his teeth. "N’ coze th’door," he adds, his words warped by the tool in his mouth. The way he gestures at the door makes his message clear, though, and you urge it closed with your heel.

"Gimme a sec," he says, turning back to whatever it is he’s working on. You nod and take a moment to look around his room. There’s soundproofing tacked to most of the walls, save for the one with the window (which is open, the venetian blinds pulled up, and there’s a faint breeze bringing in the smell of the city beyond), and that wall has a corkboard on it that’s decorated with scribbled doodles (you recognize a couple of Dave’s ironic jpeg comics and—you peer closer—is that something _you_ did?) and a few pictures of his friends, with robotic schematics peeking out between the personal affects. Beside his bed and the long work desk that takes up one wall and part of a corner, there’s no furniture at all to speak of; but there is a pile of smuppets in one corner and a trashcan under the work desk that is basically overflowing with crumpled TAB cans and empty bottles of Sunkist. 

He’s gathering up the wires around him with delicate caution, and he places the whole thing - it looks like the beginnings of some sort of mechanical appendage, all flexible parts and electrical innards - almost reverently on the work desk right beside his keyboard. When he notices that you’re still standing awkwardly in the doorway, he motions to his bed. "Make yourself comfortable. I’m not gonna bite."

"Uh. Right." You cross the sparsely-decorated room as he crouches beside the bed, pulling a small trunk from beneath it. You watch him rummage around in it for a second before you sit down. 

He straightens with a bottle of lube in one hand and a box of surgical gloves in the other. Somehow, that does not make you feel any better. "You should probably strip." He gestures at the jeans you’re still wearing. "It isn’t like this is gonna be possible with you still clothed."

You nod, reaching down and unfastening your pants, wriggling out of your boxers as well. Your shirt stays on. You feel plenty exposed already without getting down to bare skin. It’s not much protection, but it’s better than none. For his part, Dirk is silent, and when he sets two black cases beside you on the bed, your stomach does a flip.

He tugs a pair of latex gloves on and shoves the trunk under the bed. "Do you know which ones you want?" He sounds casual, like he’s asking about the weather as opposed to what sort of metal you want shoved up inside you, and you can feel your cheeks heating up. What is it with everyone else in this apartment making your problem seem so trivial?

“Uh, I think the curved ones.” Those sound safe. You’re pretty sure your urethral tract has a little curve in it, what with you lacking a dick and all. Thinking about it makes your cheeks burn, and you lay back, covering your eyes with your arm. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe you should just fuck off and never spread your legs for anyone else, ever. Maybe you should give up this stupid quest and just be okay with the fact that you can’t get off. Maybe you should become a nun.

The latex on his hands is cold against your thighs. The lube he smears over your small slit is even colder, and you shiver. He pauses. “You okay?”

He sounds legitimately concerned, and that makes the tension in your chest ease a little. “Yeah.” Dirk hesitates. For a moment, you think that he’s going to call the whole thing off, so you quickly add, “I want to try this.” You push yourself up on your elbows and look down the length of your body at him. “Seriously.” You say it with a confidence you don’t feel, and you’re proud of your voice when it doesn’t crack and betray you. “I’m okay.”

You can’t read the expression on his face. This time, you wish he’d taken the shades off. Finally, he nods, showing you the slim rod in his hand. It looks so _very small._ “Tell me if this hurts.”

There’s pressure and then you sigh, because _there is something inside you_ and dream!Jade was totally right, that’s just what you needed. He eases it a little deeper and you have to fight to keep your hips still, because you want to squirm against his hand and you know that’s not a smart thing to do, because the thing inside you is metal and that isn’t very yielding. He pushes it deeper, _deeper,_ and you dig your fingers into the sheets, your eyes fluttering shut, leaving you watching your not-brother through slitted lids. For his part, his face remains expressionless, his pace remaining slow and steady. there’s a pause, a shift, and then you almost choke on the moan that escapes you, because he has reached as deep into you as he can go, and it’s fucking _wonderful._ When he stills, you make an involuntary sound in the back of your throat, sinking back down onto the bed.

“Seems as though this is exactly what you needed,” he observes. “How do you feel?”

Now that he’s not moving you do, your hips making tiny little movements on the bed. It’s nice, but it’s a drop of water and you are a thirsty fuckin’ desert. “It’s not _enough._ “ You’re embarrassingly aware of how much your complaint sounds like a moan. When he doesn’t immediately respond, you clench your fists beside you. “Fuck, I know they get bigger and I am fuckin’ _desperate,_ Dirk.”

He remains maddeningly immobile. “Rushing things can cause you irreparable damage, or at the very least make it really uncomfortable to be you for the next week.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t care.” You don’t. You really don’t.

He shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The small rod is withdrawn so swiftly that you’re left a little off-balance, and you almost yelp in response. Fortunately, you aren’t left empty for long, and you exhale a shuddering breath when the next one begins to work into you.

This one is different. This one feels impossibly big, and you grit your teeth against the desperate whine that threatens to escape your lips. It’s like you’ve got an itch you didn’t know needed scratched and the deeper it goes, the fuller you feel, the more satisfying the pressure is. When he does that little pause-push you actually groan.

“Fuck, that’s _huge,_ ” you whisper, closing your eyes. Your whole body feels made of nerves, trembling and waiting for more to happen between your legs. It’s _right there._ You’re so close to having that itch satisfied.

“Not really.” He sounds very matter-of-fact. “How do you feel?”

You don’t know if there’s words to describe how you feel. “Like...I need this.” You’re panting. “Like I need more.”

“Bigger?”

He sounds almost clinical in his questioning. You’re not sure how you feel about this. It’s like you’re a science project and he’s only doing this as an experiment. But his fingers are touching the sound, which makes it move and you feel that tremor all the way to your core. “N-no,” you manage. “Just...more. Please. _Please,_ Dirk.”

The sound begins to move, withdrawing almost halfway out (there’s a distinct _lack_ in the parts of you that are no longer being stretched, you can feel it not being there almost more keenly than you felt it there in the first place) and when it slides back in you almost weep with relief, because it feels _so fucking good._ Each pump of the sound into you is shallow and swift, and you lay back and moan. The speed with which he’s sounding you isn’t doing anything to work you up, but you’re not sure if you care. It feels _so nice._

Nice, but not arousing. Sure, the fact that you’re being penetrated is great. It feels really fucking good. But the motion of the sound isn’t doing anything to stimulate you further. Honestly, as it continues it starts to get frustrating. You need it deeper. You need it bigger. You need _more._ “Okay.” You hiss the word through gritted teeth, swallowing.

Dirk stops immediately. You wish you had the nerve to squirm up and press your hips against his hand, to get that rod nice and deep and just let it sit for a minute. “Okay?” He echoes. You don’t care about the questioning in his voice. You’re just glad he stopped.

Again, you push yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah. It’s...” you swallow again. There’s tears pricking at your eyes. Dammit. You’d been so sure that this would work. He’s looking at you expectantly, and you gesture vaguely. “It’s not..” You fumble for words. “Not enough. It feels good, but not...like...gonna-make-me-cum good. More like the way pressing against something feels good.”

Dirk nods, slowly withdrawing the sound. Those tears almost escape when he does, but you don’t say anything. “You don’t have the same muscles I do,” he reasons. “There’s nothing there to clench down in a way that would be sexually stimulating.”

“Sure.” You don’t quite understand what he said.

He knows it. “Basically, the pressure is nice but the tissue touching the sound isn’t made to appreciate the sensation of being fucked.” There’s a shrug. “My dick is _made_ of sensitive skin. I can squeeze it when the sound is in me and that feels good. For you...there’s nothing to squeeze.”

Well, there goes whatever boner you had. You sit up, which means drawing away from him. “Thanks, dude.” You try not to sound as bitter as you feel. You fail.

He’s putting the sounding kits away, though the two he used on you he sets aside on a small square of cloth. He’s right - the one he’d fucked you with really _wasn’t_ that big. “Relax. I’m just pointing out why certain shit doesn’t work for you the way it works for me.” He snaps the latches on the kit, popping the gloves off and tossing them at the trashcan by the door. “I can figure this out.”

You hug your knees to your chest. You aren’t quite ready to move. “Figure what out?” Now you don’t bother keeping the bitterness out of your voice. “The challenging puzzle of my fucked-up anatomy?” You snort, burying your face in your arms. “I’m glad I can be the source of such great entertainment.” Your words are muffled by your knees, and you dig your kneecaps against your eyes. You aren’t going to cry. You _will not cry._

The bed shifts beside you, and you don’t move. You’re so fucking tired of this. You just want to be satisfied, to stop aching all the damn time. Even when he settles his arms over your shoulders, you don’t say anything. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

His voice is gentle, and you hate him for it. You wish he’d be the asshole you know he is so you can get on with fucking off and never thinking about this again. “Whatever.”

“I mean it.” He squeezes your shoulder, and you glower up at him. The fact that he looks like he really is worried about you soothes a little of your frustration. “I really do want to help. I think it can be done. That’s all I’m saying.”

You sigh, withdrawing from him and sliding off the bed, gathering your clothes. That’s enough emotional vulnerability for one day. “Yeah. I hope so.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and you only bother with pulling on your boxers before you leave his room and head for your own.

You hope you can figure out soon, you think as you order a sounding set of your own. Maybe he just wasn’t doing it right. After all, the only experience he has is with sounding himself - he said as much, didn’t he?

Maybe you just need something different.

Maybe you just need _more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update came a week late. My schedule is all messed up and also I signed up for DRONE SEASON ~~and I've got a couple other projects that I'm working on~~
> 
> So expect every other week updates for a minute. I'll _try_ to get them out weekly, but I'm not going to make that a promise right now.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

One of the ~~only~~ few perks of being a weird, grotesque anomaly is that you can’t work, which means you get to spend as much time doing absolutely nothing as you want. Oh, you’d tried to get a job; but you had fast discovered that typical humanoids (i.e. those who hadn’t been an integral part of the Game) tend to get a glassy look to their eyes when you try and interact with them. You can hold their attention long enough to order a coffee if you’re lucky, but then you had better pay attention because they damn sure don’t ever think to take down your name and your drink will get fumbled onto the counter with the barista looking confused as to why they made it in the first place. It’s just another thing life has to hammer home that you don’t belong here. Reality doesn’t know what to do with you, so it rejects you, and people just go with the flow. 

So: no job. Not even any responsibilities, really. Just hours and hours of free time, during which you can do whatever you want. Right now, ‘whatever you want’ means chilling in the living room and looking as nonchalant as possible while you wait for the delivery guy to pull up. You’ve been checking the progress of your little package habitually since the minute you’d clicked ‘Place Order’ on Amazon, and while you’re pretty sure that nobody in the apartment would give you much shit for the present you’ve gotten for yourself, it isn’t a conversation that you want to have with anyone. Regardless of how much they know about your body, you’ve still got some modesty. Somewhere. 

Probably under your bed.

Whatever.

Luckily, the deliveryman is one of those leave-it-and-go types, because he barely bothers to knock and even though you bolt to the door you still don’t see a soul when you open it. The space beyond your front door is empty, save for the innocuous brown box sitting at your feet. You snatch it up, ease the door closed with as much calm as you can manage, and saunter back to your room with what you _wish_ was an air of casual nonchalance. You know better than to think that your excitement wouldn’t show if you had to interact with anyone right now, which means you can’t give anyone the slightest reason to abandon their individual solitudes and investigate what’s going on. Which means quiet. Chill. _Be cool._ You’re just a dude with a package heading down the hall.

For once, fate is on your side, because every door remains closed as you pass it, and there’s not anyone waiting to surprise you under your bed or in your closet when you reach your own room. You check all the hiding places three times before you finally lock your door and settle on your bed, the box in your lap.

You’re aware that your fingers are trembling when you break the tape sealing the box, and you take a second, sucking in a deep breath. This isn’t a big deal. Just your first-ever personal plaything, is all. Nothing major. 

You dig past the puffed plastic packing to reach the items within. The lube is less important, though it is fancy; it’s in a little glass bottle with a handy push-dispenser, and you take the time to break it out of its’ packaging before you finally touch the black case nestled in the bottom of the box. You lift it out almost reverently, flicking the latch open before you set it on the bed.

The curvy, tapered sounds gleam under sterile wrapping, and you pull them free one at a time, the largest one first. You take a second to run your fingers over it. There’s people that can fit that whole thing inside their pissholes—and while you may not have gotten off when Dirk was sounding you, the idea of being stretched wide and filled up is still one that makes all the nerves you _do_ have hum with hungry anticipation. You don’t want to rush, though. You know better than to think you could take this huge thing all at once. The mind may be willing but the body needs to be worked up to the daring dreams you have of someday being able to take that whole thing. 

After touching each one in turn (in your head, you’re marking each one as yours, though you’d never admit it aloud), you fit them back in their respective slots, leaving only one out. It’s almost half as thick as your little finger, which you think is probably a decent size to start with. It’s bigger than what Dirk had used on you by a long shot, which means it might just provide the sort of ~~stretching~~ ~~full~~ _satisfying_ pressure you’re looking for. 

You check the clock. You’ve still got at least three hours before anyone should even get close to coming home. Which means maybe you can actually do something with yourself before the apartment is too full of nosy, noisy fuckers for you to let go with any real seriousness.

Better get to it.

Lube comes first, of course—you’re not stupid, and you know this is bigger than Dirk had gone with you—and you’re liberal with it, slathering it over the sound and slipping your hand down between your legs, rubbing at your hole, sucking in your lower lip. You’re not sure if you’ve always been that sensitive around your entrance, or if it’s just because now you know how it feels to have something inside that small hole; regardless, rubbing at your urethra for a second is enough to make you gasp. Not enough to make you cum, though; but this time, you think you might be prepared to correct that.

It’s _big_. Bigger than you expected it to be, and you can’t help the groan that escapes you, long and drawn-out, as you force the metal rod into yourself, inch by slow, torturous inch. Your thighs are so tense that they’re trembling. Fuck, this is what you needed, _exactly_ what you needed—it’s stretching you in a way that’s agonizingly wonderful, putting pressure against your inner bits that is fucking _delicious_. You slide your second hand between your legs, against your first, applying a bit of pressure to that soft, nerve-filled spot just beneath your pisshole, and—

Something shifts.

More specifically, something _gives,_ and the sound slips under your fingers. In grasping at it, your fingers shove roughly at the metal, jamming it with more force than intended down your too-tight urethra. 

_Fuck._

It doesn’t hurt, not the way you expected it to, but you pull it out all the same, hissing as you do so. The metal sliding against your inner walls stings, and you suck in a breath, wincing. When the sound is all the way out you heave a ragged sigh, studying the lube-slick metal. Hopefully, you didn’t fuck anything up _too_ bad.

The lube is streaked with red. “Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your fingers against your hole. Fortunately, there’s nothing gushing, no sudden rush of warm dampness between your thighs; but your fingers come away with spots of blood on them, which is, you’re pretty sure, enough reason for anyone to panic.

Fortunately, you have someone you can turn to. You check the clock again, and swear. Dirk doesn’t get off for another two and a half hours. Still, you open pesterchum desperately, hoping against hope that he’ll get your messages soon. You don’t even know what you could google to figure out what you’ve done to yourself. My sound was too big sounds way too much like some edgy way to talk street. There’s blood in my pisshole is probably going to return some nightmarish results that’ll only scare the shit out of you.

So Dirk it is.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

AT: dirk i need you to be a pal and maybe check your messages soonish  
AT: cmon i know you take weird breaks at work  
AT: i think i might have fucked my shit up  
AT: so i would kind of like someone who knows what theyre doing to maybe come tell me how to fix this shit

You wait, staring at the screen as though you can summon his words by the force of your panic alone.

You don’t have to wait long, and you’re pretty sure you could cry when the bright orange of his text flashes across the screen.

TT: Whoa, calm down.  
TT: What happened?  
AT: i uh  
AT: ordered some sounding rods  
TT: Hold up, let me cut you off.  
TT: Did you go too big too quick?  
TT: Is there a lot of blood?

There’s heat in your cheeks, you know it. Still, there’s some relief in knowing that this isn’t an unusual thing.

AT: not a lot  
AT: just some spotting  
AT: it kind of burns  
TT: Yeah, that’s the lube.  
TT: Sounds like you just tore a little bit.  
TT: Nothing to worry about.  
TT: It sounds a lot scarier than it is.  
AT: fuck  
AT: what do i do  
TT: You relax, first of all.  
TT: Go take a shower, get cleaned up, and get used to that burning sensation happening whenever you pee for like the next two weeks.  
TT: I told you, you gotta work up slow.  
TT: It takes time to stretch a urethra.  
TT: It doesn’t have the pliability that, say, vaginas or asses have.  
AT: thats it  
AT: will it heal on its own  
TT: Provided you keep your greedy little claws from shoving anything up there for awhile, yeah.

You groan.

AT: dammit  
AT: i was so sure this would work  
TT: It still might.  
TT: You just need patience, and to make sure you do this right.  
TT: Tell you what.  
TT: Once you get all healed, we can start doing sounding sessions every couple weeks.  
TT: That way, you won’t hurt yourself, and if something goes wrong, you’ll already have someone there with you.

You stare at the text on the screen, your heart in your throat. Is he seriously proposing that he basically fuck you twice a month?

AT: uh  
TT: Just trust me.  
TT: Each week or so, you’ll get to move up a step, and you’ll know what sizes you can use without damaging yourself between sessions.  
TT: Who knows, maybe we’ll find the right combination of thickness and pressure that’ll get you off.  
AT: thatd be nice  
TT: Break’s over, I’ve got to go back in.  
TT: You gonna be okay?  
AT: yeah  
AT: think so  
AT: im gonna go shower  
TT: Don’t forget to clean your sounds before you put them away.  
TT: Talk to you later.

\--\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

You push away from the computer with a sigh. Well, at least you have a better idea of what you’re doing now, even if you _did_ manage to fuck it all up, and while you might not be able to get any closer to getting off until this shit heals, at least you have something like hope now.

Maybe Dirk really will figure this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dears.
> 
> Did you miss me? :3


	16. Chapter 16

Dirk’s wrong, as it turns out: it only takes about a week and a half for the discomfort to ease. When you confront him in the kitchen with your newfound knowledge, he just laughs. “You can’t rush this.”

Your cheeks are burning, and you don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to have this conversation face-to-face. “You don’t think I’ve waited long enough?” There’s an edge to your voice that you didn’t intend to be there. The subtle shift in his expression is enough to make you immediately regret the words, and you fumble in a desperate attempt to recover. “I mean— I don’t— fuck, I don’t want to drag this _out_ anymore!”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “I’m not risking it.” When you sigh, he ruffles your hair, an act that makes you blush for the warmth that spread through you. “I want to make 100% sure I’m not fucking you up.”

 _Because the fact that we’re related isn’t fucked up enough._ Ugh. You swallow, reaching up in some futile attempt to calm the hair that he’d just touched. You have **got** to find a way to put a lid on this weird crush you’ve got going for Dirk. “Yeah. Okay.”

You retreat swiftly to your room, as though you can keep your shame in the hallway if you just slam the door fast enough. Unfortunately, it follows you in anyway, and you near-collapse on your bed, burying your head under a pillow. You can do this. You can wait. 

Maybe.

* * *

Ten days later you’ve still managed to keep your hands away from your shiny new sounds, and Dirk messages you bright and early on a Saturday morning. Weird, considering you’ve never seen him conscious before noon on any given day.

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] is now atomicTangerine [AT] \--

TT: You up yet?  
AT: only because the debate we ended with last night has been haunting me since the moment my head hit the pillow  
AT: theres intense thought and theres philosophy and then theres the crackpot horse that you hitched your train of thought to  
AT: its not even on the same track it jumped the fence and is now galloping wildly off into the sunset  
AT: except it isnt even a sunset its a black hole devoid of all sense  
AT: and somehow my foot got caught in the stirrup and im just being dragged along for the ride  
TT: I can re-clarify any points you might’ve misunderstood, if you want.  
AT: hell no  
AT: i dont think its possible for me to get on whatever batshit level youve discovered  
AT: anyway this is early for you so whats up  
AT: am i just the first person you think of in the morning  
AT: thats so sweet  
TT: If you were, you wouldn’t be sleeping in another room.  
TT: And there’s a limit to just how far I’m willing to take this.  
TT: Besides, neither of us would like to be running this show.  
TT: It would be an unmitigated disaster.  
AT: that leaves my question unanswered  
AT: what is happening with you my obviously very platonic brother figure  
TT: Hey, if platonic is what you want, I can do that.  
TT: I was only messaging you to see if you were still up for me to show you how it’s done.

There’s no need to ask what ‘it’ is. Your stomach (already twisting because being rejected, even playfully, has put a crack in the feelings you shouldn’t have anyway) lurches, and you swallow. 

AT: i mean if you want to  
AT: im definitely not going to complain  
AT: dirk striders sweet ass in between my legs hell yeah  
AT: give it to me baby  
TT: You’re gonna need to step up your flirt game if you want to ride the Dirk train.  
AT: i cant believe you just said that  
TT: Do you want me to show you or not?  
AT: yeah sure  
AT: tomorrow maybe  
TT: Or today would be good.

Your stomach clenches again. Bro isn’t at work, Dave doesn’t have class, and clearly Dirk’s got a free schedule, and that means...

AT: or not today  
AT: in fact maybe any day but today  
AT: everyones home  
TT: I mean tonight.

Relief spikes through you. 

AT: tonight would be good  
AT: you got a time in mind  
TT: After everyone else is unconscious.  
TT: We don’t need to get interrupted during this.  
AT: damn straight  
TT: I’ve got some programming to do, so I’m going to fuck off for awhile.  
TT: Leave your door open.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

* * *

Dirk’s instruction to _leave your door open_ means that you don’t bother getting dressed after your shower, and you wriggle under your sheets once your skin is no longer damp. Sleep hasn’t exactly been your best friend lately, so it’s easy to stay awake until the door creaks, announcing Dirk’s entrance into your room. 

You wait until you hear the _snkt_ of the lock before you sit up, and as you slide off the bed, he turns on the lamp sitting on your nightstand. “You have lube?”

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that?” 

He’s pulling gloves on (again, the sight makes you cringe inwardly; while you’re pretty sure you’re more than a science experiment, the sight of him with gloves on is just a little too clinical) and he snaps one against his wrist before seating himself on your bed. “A good one, considering you don’t make a habit of putting things up your ass.”

You make a face and set the sounds on the bed, reaching past him to yank open your nightstand drawer and fish out the bottle of K-Y that lives there. You set it next to the leather case almost triumphantly. “Anything going in a hole takes lube, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he agrees, patting the bed in front of him.

You swallow, climbing awkwardly up on the bed and shifting so you’re settled between his legs, with the sounds between yours. You’re uncomfortably aware of your nudity in comparison to the fact that he’s still completely clothed, but you try not to think about it. “So what now?”

“You relax.” He plucks the lube from beside the case of sounds, squeezing some onto his fingers, his chin resting easily on your shoulder. Nodding, you lean back against Dirk, gazing down the length of your weird torso (because fact that the shade of your skin isn’t a pigmentation that naturally occurs outside of your fucked-up form isn’t off-putting enough to remind you that shit is just weird, you also don’t have nipples, or a bellybutton—just a long patch of skin that’s rough and discolored, to indicate where the sword had been) to where his hands, latex-clad and dark against your own, are moving. “Which one did you end with?” He taps his fingers over the metal bars. 

“Uh...” You shift, briefly covering his fingers with your own so you can point it out. “This one.”

You’re still watching his hand when he finally rubs his lubed fingers over the flesh between your legs. “The ten-millimeter?” He makes a sound of disapproval. “I told you, you gotta ease your way up to it.” At least the sound he’s greasing up isn’t the smallest one.

Still, it’s not even half as big as you’d like. Now it’s you making the disapproving sound, and he rests it against the small opening that is your urethra. “Relax. Think of it like working out.” The metal begins to press into you, and you stiffen. He continues, working it slowly into you. “I know you want to bench the big ones, but it takes time to get there. You can’t rush this.”

You barely even have time to enjoy the sensation of being penetrated before he begins to slide it out. The sound you make is almost a whine, caught behind gritted teeth. “Dirk, _c’mon_ —”

Unperturbed, he guides it back in. This time it goes a little faster, and your breath catches. He stops when it’s—again—still not even halfway inside. “Give me your hand.”

The concept of that makes you tense. You like Dirk being in control. Nothing gets broken when he’s in charge, and you have a natural tendency to just send everything straight to hell. “I don’t think that—”

“Do you want me to be the only one who can do this to you?” He sounds almost impatient.

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t want the answer you give to be the _yes_ that’s stuck in the back of your throat, so you force yourself to nod, not trusting your voice. It’s in silence that you let him guide your fingers around the end of the rod.

He covers your hand with his own gloved one. “You have to learn what ‘too much’ and ‘too fast’ feel like,” he murmurs. (You’re _super_ aware of how warm his breath is against your ear, how the softness of his voice makes it sound huskier and the shadowed tone of his voice sends something akin to hunger tingling down your spine.) “You have to ease yourself into the bigger ones. You can’t go from zero to ten without starting at one and making a pit stop at five.”

He probably isn’t trying to scold you, but your cheeks heat up anyway with the embarrassment that comes with knowing you messed up. Or maybe it’s the embarrassment that comes from the sound is moving again, the metal bobbing inside you, making you squirm. Either way, it’s hard for you to find words, so you don’t bother, instead moving to encourage the sound a little deeper. When you try and pick up speed, however, he forces your hand to move slower than you’d like, and you take the hint with a touch of frustration. _It takes time,_ he’d said. Which means you’re going to have to be patient.

You’re really shitty at being patient.

Still, as you work your way up to a speed and depth that makes you gasp (all with Dirk’s hand on yours, ensuring you don’t go further than he’d like), you have to admit this is better than the sloppy rush job you’d managed when you’d first gotten your sounds. Dirk, for his part, is perfectly silent, his breathing smooth and steady, even when you force yourself to stop; but when you reach for a new sound, he takes the one you’ve been using from your hand and flips it over. Understanding immediately, you ease it into yourself, making a pleased sound at the differences in size. You don’t give it long before you stop and reach for another one, though—after all, he’d gone through a half-dozen different sounds before he’d been done, so you figure you probably won’t fuck things up _too_ bad. He doesn’t stop you, and you take that as encouragement, picking up speed at a rate that you’re pretty sure isn’t going to upset the guy who’s in control of all of it. Remembering how Dirk had worked his way up, you go through two more sounds (first one side, than the other)—before he restrains you from reaching for the next biggest one, which is the one you’d torn yourself on in the first place. 

You groan softly, easing the one you’ve got back into you.This still isn’t enough. It isn’t going to **be** enough, not for weeks. You know that, even as you push on, moving faster, even as he releases your hand, leaving you to your own devices with his palms on your thighs. There’s nothing about this that’s going to come close to what you want. You want filled. Stretched to bursting. You want—

You don’t realize there’s tears on your cheeks until Dirk catches your wrist and silently forces you to stop. You’d been working yourself with a roughness that was probably on the verge of dangerous, and you let him withdraw the sound from you with your shoulders trembling. He doesn’t say anything, and you jerk when he touches your shoulder, twisting to press your face against his chest.

He freezes, and for a brief moment you regret every choice you’ve ever made that’s led up to you clutching to your not-brother like a mewling newborn kitten. You push yourself up against his thighs, keeping your head firmly bowed and your eyes closed to 100% make sure you don’t have to see the look on his face. 

You feel him shift, and then there’s the pressure of arms around you. He remains silent while you weep, holding you tightly until your tears are no longer making your body shake, and when your cheeks are finally drying, you pull away from him. This isn’t something you can handle anymore. You’ve already cried on Dave. You’re tired of crying in front of people. “Fuck off, Dirk.”

He lets you go. Unlike John—or even Dave—he doesn’t ask why, just withdraws from the situation and leaves you to your shame and your tears. When the door clicks shut you throw yourself down against the bed. You want to punch the wall until your knuckles split open. You want to dig your claws into your palms until you bleed. You want to scream yourself hoarse until the world stops being so _shitty_ and you can finally stop obsessing over the fact that you’re some weird freak who just fucks themselves up because they can’t get off.

Instead of doing any of that, you curl in on yourself, and when sleep finally takes you, it’s a fucking blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this time I can _actually_ keep going! We will see. Fingers crossed, right?
> 
> If you go back and re-read the last couple chapters, I edited them some (after some insight from a friend of mine who _actually_ knows Things about Stuff) to be at least a little more accurate. =D


	17. Chapter 17

\-- atomicTangerine [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [AT] \--

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] is now atomicTangerine [AT] \--

AT: hey  
TT: Hey.  
AT: i wanted to i guess  
AT: apologize for last night  
TT: You don’t have to apologize to me, dude.  
TT: You didn’t do anything to upset or offend me.  
TT: I should be apologizing to you.  
AT: wtf  
AT: what for  
TT: Making you feel like you had to chase me out of the room, probably.  
TT: Or something like that.  
AT: whatever  
AT: all of this is supremely awkward without trying to figure out how to unblock the natural emotional constipation were gifted with by being members of the strider clan  
AT: im sorry i cried like a bitch  
AT: youre sorry that i couldnt cry like a bitch in front of you  
TT: I’m pretty sure you’ve earned the right to cry like a bitch.  
AT: how  
AT: i didnt ask for this to happen  
AT: this is not some grand trial i am undertaking  
AT: this is just the shitty shitty thing that is life  
AT: its time for me to figure out how to get over it  
TT: So you’re giving up?  
AT: do you see any reason for me not to  
TT: Well, you haven’t even tried half of the avenues available to you.  
AT: youre talking about anal  
TT: Yes, I’m talking about anal.   
TT: What’s the big deal, anyway?  
TT: I know you aren’t anti-anal because of penetration, so what is it?  
AT: uh  
AT: its gross  
AT: i poop from there  
AT: poop is gross  
AT: end of story  
TT: You know it isn’t like you’re full of poop all the time.  
TT: Besides, if you’re that worried about it, you could always try an enema.  
AT: what do you mean ‘try an enema’  
AT: this isnt baskin-robbins  
AT: we dont get to sample every flavor before going ah yes this one will do  
TT: Isn’t it, though?  
TT: We’re working our way through the world of kink, trying to figure out which one hits the right buttons.  
AT: that isnt an explanation  
AT: explain  
TT: Well, an enema is something that flushes you out.  
TT: Cleans everything up and washes it away.  
AT: i really dont want to think about that  
TT: Then don’t.  
TT: Do it once and then, if it isn’t worth it, don’t do it again.  
TT: It’s like preheating the oven.   
TT: Get it over with and move on the fun part.  
AT: are you saying baking it is the fun part  
TT: Well, putting it in sure is.  
AT: look i just  
AT: i have to think about it okay  
TT: You know, you can figure it out on your own.  
TT: If you don’t want anyone there, no one has to be there.

Your stomach clenches. You don’t know how to tell Dirk that that’s the exact _opposite_ of what you want.

AT: yeah it might be nice to get a break from being ogled like a freakshow side exhibit

That is not how you tell someone that you want them to help you out. 

AT: thanks for your input i guess

Fuck.

TT: Hey, if you ever need help, I’m here.  
TT: What are friends for, right?  
AT: yeah

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

* * *

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

AT: so what if i tried anal  
TG: i thought you were super not about anal  
AT: well im kind of running low on options aside from give up or fuck myself in the butt  
AT: besides dirk makes some good points  
AT: and it doesnt have to be super gross  
TG: well theres other things we can still try right  
TG: like wands or vibrators or stimulating something other than the space between your legs  
AT: not to be an ass or anything but  
AT: wtf is this we shit  
AT: did you magically wake up without a dick  
AT: or realize two minutes too late what being part bird actually meant and all the ramifications thereof  
AT: maybe youre suddenly sharing all of my experiences   
AT: is that what this is  
AT: are we experiencing some sort of weird vulcan mind meld  
AT: i mean i have no doubt we are drift compatible but this is a little extra dont you think  
TG: calm your shit  
TG: i told you i wanted to help  
TG: ergo i am trying to help  
AT: sorry  
TG: im just saying theres lots of other options  
TG: youre aware theres like 20 something places on a persons body that are considered erogenous zones  
AT: some people get off on their feet being touched   
AT: that doesnt mean i dont think feet are the grossest part of the body  
TG: to each their own but be honest  
TG: have you even tried anything like that  
TG: i mean you didnt exactly have a regular childhood  
TG: neither of us did  
TG: so how do you even know what feels good  
AT: what are we gonna do work our way down the kink registry and just try everything  
AT: i hate to use the same metaphor twice in one day, but this really isnt fucking baskin robbins  
TG: what  
AT: nevermind  
TG: im not saying that im saying theres some shit thats pretty vanilla that we havent even considered  
AT: like what  
TG: like   
TG: wands  
TG: vibrators  
TG: stimulating something other than the space between your legs  
TG: you know i have one of those wands  
TG: shit is great for relieving back tension

You suck in a deep breath. The idea of Dave coming to help you out ~~some more~~ is appealing as hell, but you’re tired of feeling like this problem that everyone is just having to deal with. You’re really starting to think that you might be better off just doing things yourself.

AT: i dont want you to feel like you have to do anything  
AT: it isnt like youre suffering at all  
AT: im the only one dealing with this  
AT: why do you care so much  
TG: because i want to help you ffs i put my face between your legs for like 30 minutes the other day what you think i did that on a dare  
AT: thanks for being willing to help me with my weird problem  
AT: do you want a medal  
AT: maybe gold star  
AT: ‘you tried’  
AT: ‘now stop trying’  
TG: im supposed to just what let you continue to be miserable and sad  
AT: news flash: in most families brothers dont help their twins figure out how orgasms work  
TG: news flash: if you really wanna play the ‘in most families’ card theres a lot weirder shit in our lives than incest even if you dont bring up that at least two of us are basically probably immortal  
TG: i want to help  
AT: why  
TG: i give a shit maybe  
TG: get over it  
AT: dave are you asking me out  
AT: youre gonna make me the happiest girl at the spring dance  
TG: do you want me to ask you out  
AT: sure  
AT: why not  
AT: shits fucked up already isnt it  
AT: were only a couple steps away from a jerry springer episode  
AT: lets go all the way

Dave is silent, and you swallow, backtracking. This is going too far.

AT: i mean  
AT: fuck it this is fucked plenty without talking about emotional attachments and shit i am not well adjusted enough for this conversation okay  
AT: we can figure that out later  
AT: if its even a thing  
TG: why would it be a thing right  
AT: exactly

You want to punch a wall.

TG: so uh  
TG: if you want to let dirk fuck you go for it  
AT: if we jump straight to fucking im gonna be upset  
AT: i can probably buy shit on my very own like the nearly-nonexistent game construct that i am  
AT: and then wonder of wonders i can actually figure out on my own how my anatomy works  
TG: the last time you tried to do that you couldnt pee for a week  
AT: okay look i’m well aware of my flaws and faults okay???  
TG: im just saying be careful  
TG: like i said  
TG: i give a shit   
TG: get over it.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I feel like I should mention to people that the first ten minutes after I post a chapter are nebulous at best, because I inevitably missed SOMETHING that was relevant.


	18. Chapter 18

On your way out of bed in the morning, you nearly trip over the box sitting just inside your door. It isn’t a very big box—only a little bigger than your hand—and you stare down at it for a second, before stepping over it to let yourself out into the hall. There’s shit you need to deal with before you go prying into whatever Dave’s left for you. 

You're not surprised that he’s left you something. You know (by virtue of being him) that Dave’s pretty good at stubbornly shoving help down someone’s throat. You’ve just never been the one to get that sort of attention from someone. You give; you don’t get. It’s the curse of being a Strider. You’d grown up thinking that needing help made you weak.

So you really don’t know how you feel about getting it.

On your way to the shower, you squeeze past Dirk, still steaming from the shower. “Tell me you left me some hot water,” you groan, more than a little frustrated. 

He smirks at you, hand on the knot holding his towel in place. “You’re lucky I’m running late. What are you doing up so early?”

Despite your desperate attempt to press yourself against the wall, you feel his cock brush your thigh all the same (or maybe you just hope you did), and you turn away from him so he can’t see the tint your cheeks take. “Thought I’d see what it’s like to be a normal person and get up before the sun does. So far, it sucks.”

You can hear him snickering down the hall, and you duck into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. You hadn’t realized how early it was. Which meant you don’t get as long as you normally would in the shower, even if you did have enough hot water to burn for a good long soak under the spray.

Sure enough, you’re barely done rinsing out your hair when there’s a bang at the door, a rapid staccato echoing [a familiar beat.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyDdV8eIHGE) _Dave._ You shut the water off and pop open the door, to let him in while you towel off. 

He pokes his head around the door and blinks. “DS? Why’re you up so early?”

“That’s the question of the morning.” You scrub the towel through your hair as he closes the door. “I dunno, maybe I wasn’t sleeping all that good.” You try not to look when his boxers hit the floor and you do a pretty good job, too—when you catch yourself and jerk your gaze away, he doesn’t call you on it. _Fuck._ It isn’t enough that you’ve got all these weird issues, but now you’re pretty sure you’ve got crushes on both of your ectosiblings, which isn’t something you meant to do at all. “Look, about last night...”

He interrupts you. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You swallow. “I just wanna make sure things don’t get awkward between us. I know we haven’t always been—great, I guess, but—”

The water hisses on, the metal loops holding the shower curtain up rattling over the bar as he pulls it closed. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, some of the tension easing out of your shoulders. It’s easier, somehow, with opaque plastic keeping both of you out of view. “Look, you’re going through some shit. It’s fucking you up. You don’t have to explain yourself, or anything like that.” 

You wrap the towel around your waist. “I feel like I should, though.”

There’s a small chuckle from the other side of the curtain. “Can you? Explain yourself, or whatever?”

That gives you pause. “I...don’t know.” The words come slowly, and for a moment, silence hangs. You brush your teeth, and you’re spitting into the sink when he speaks again.

“Did you get my present?”

“Uh, dude—” You wipe your mouth off and wash your hands. “You put it in my room. Is it the wand thing?”

“Yeah.” He takes a second, during which you’re pretty sure he’s ducking his head under the water. “It’s waterproof and everything. If you want some help—”

This time it’s you interrupting him. “No, dude it’s—it’s cool. Uh, thanks.” You flee the bathroom before he can reply, skidding down the hallway.

This time you _do_ trip over the small box and fall cursing to the floor. The wand spills out—small and red—and you eye it distrustfully. You’ve never played with vibes, and the idea of trying one now sounds like it’ll either be great or just inspire you to new heights of misery, and honestly, you’re not sure which it’s gonna be. You’re reaching a point where none of this feels even half worth it, and you’re frustrated as fuck, and you kind of _really wish_ you’d taken Dave up on his offer to help you out with it. 

Which is probably why you kick the door shut, grab the wand, slather it with some lube, crank it to about halfway and shove it between your legs without letting yourself think about it.

You don’t know why you weren’t expecting it to make you gasp, but it _does,_ and you squeeze your thighs together, your toes curling as you rub the blunted head of the wand against the space just under your urethra. You’re grinding against it without really meaning to, scooting back on the floor until you can feel your bed against your shoulders, which gives you something to clutch at when you rock your hips against the small vibe. You wish it was bigger, so you could rub every last inch of skin between your pisshole and your asshole, and when you slide the wand down against that ring of muscle every nerve in your body fucking _sings._

Trembling, you crank the dial until it won’t go any higher and then you’re hiding your face against the covers hanging off the edge of your bed because your other option is to actually moan, and you twist your fingers in the blanket as you practically writhe on the floor. You want it _deeper._ You want _more._ You grunt, eyes closed as you work the wand with furious abandon against the space where your cloaca used to be and your dick should be. There’s a glorious, _glorious_ fucking pleasure building up behind that soft skin, heat curling in your stomach, and you bite down on the comforter in an effort to muffle the moans that you can’t hold back anymore, working desperately at that patch of skin, pressing it as hard as you can against your flesh, working it around both your front and your back entrance until you’re whimpering, biting down on your lower lip almost hard enough to make it bleed.

You want it. You want it _so bad_ , but there’s not _enough_ (which is always the story, isn’t it?) and eventually you sink bonelessly to the floor, trapping the wand between carpet and skin so you can rut in what you know is futility on the humming vibration, your hips ticking back and forth against the floor, your knees scraping on the carpet until they’re raw and you keep going anyway, because you’re so tense that you’re shuddering and if you could just find the right angle, if you could just find the right _spot_ —

By the time you let yourself go limp, there’s tears on your cheeks and your chest is heaving. Your thighs are slick with sweat from the heat of basically humping your floor when it’s like 80 degrees outside. You need to piss, and _that_ pressure is nearly enough to make you sob all on its’ own when you move, because it’s too much and not enough, all at once. Still trembling from exertion, you manage to push yourself into a sitting position, hugging your chest as you reach down to click the tiny wand off.

You kick it weakly across the room. Your muscles are all screaming at you, and when you touch your lip, your fingers come away red. That tension that had been so fucking delicious when you’d started is now just a pain that’s slowly fading, muscles tense for so long that all you can feel is ache.

You’d been so _close._

You slowly draw your knees up to your chest and bury your face against them, trying to steady your breathing. _So close._ Close enough that you’re pretty sure that if you’d had something up inside you (and, yes, you know that means that you need something in your ass) you could’ve gotten off. It might take something in both holes, but you’d been close enough that you could almost taste it. Close enough that you’re pretty sure if someone else had been touching you you would finally have been the mess you’ve been trying to be for the last bit of forever. 

You pull on your blanket until it spills completely on the floor next to you, bringing with it your phone, and you thumb it awake, opening pesterchum.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] is now atomicTangerine [AT] \--

AT: so  
AT: you wanna help me with this enema thing or what


	19. Chapter 19

You’re lucky (kind of) - it’s less than 48 hours later that you open your bedroom door to find your not!brother holding a large bag filled with soapy water that's attached to some rubber tubing he's got coiled in the other hand. The sight of the two things makes your stomach turn flips, and you swallow, stepping back to let him into your room. He doesn't comment on the fact that you're nude, a fact you find both amusing and a little relieving. You're glad your freakshow of a body doesn't throw him off.

He notes the expression on your face, though, and his brows arch. “Are you sure about this?” 

“No.” You lick your lips. “Uh. Wouldn’t this be better in the bathroom?” 

He shrugs, setting the water-filled bladder on your computer desk and plopping himself into your chair. “We could, but it’s cramped in there. I’m pretty sure you can manage the walk from bedroom to bathroom without embarrassing yourself.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up, and you seat yourself awkwardly on the bed, rubbing at your arm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Another shrug. “I just know how bodies work.” He swivels in your chair, making it bounce gently. “Did you do any reading about enemas last night?”

Of _course_ he’d ask that. “Uh. No.” You can’t fucking look at him, so you settle for staring very hard at a small stain on the carpet near the door. You’re tripping over your words and you wish to fuck that you had enough of a handle on yourself that you could actually speak without mumbling. “I’m still, uh, not a hundred percent sure that this is a good idea.”

“Well, it isn’t damaging, if you’re safe.” He pats the bag on your desk, and you find your eyes drawn to the liquid as it sloshes back and forth in the rubber pouch. “And I’m always careful.” He pauses. “Would it help if I broke it down for you?”

God, you feel like an ass. Dirk’s doing his damnedest to help you out, and you’re just making things difficult, you know it. Without lifting your gaze, you twist your fingers in the blanket under you. “Yeah, maybe.” Your voice is small, but you can’t make it any louder.

Dirk doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. “First, I’m gonna put some lube on this.” He shows you the tubing he’s got coiled around his arm. It doesn’t _look_ insidious or anything, but knowing it’s going to be going up in you makes your stomach resume the acrobatics it had begun when you’d first seen Dirk’s face. “And then I’m gonna have you lie down.”

“Lie down.”

“Yep.” He nods. “And then I’ll slide it into you. You shouldn't feel much from that. Your colon doesn't have a lot of nerves in it. Then I'm gonna open this clamp—” He shows you a small blue piece of plastic that you’d missed when you’d first glanced at the tubing, “—and I'll let just a little bit of water in, so there's space for the tube to go deeper. I'll keep doing that, feed it and fill you, a little bit at a time, until I've got the tube deep enough."

You purse your lips. "What's deep enough?"

"Enough that it's into your descending colon." The expression on your face must have changed without you being aware of it, because he laughs. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Like I said, your colon doesn't have a lot of nerves in it. There'll be some pressure, but it won't hurt. And then once it's all the way in, I'll fill you up. If you're okay with it, I'll probably rub your stomach some, just to help it get into you better."

"Okay." You make yourself breathe, because this doesn't sound okay, not at all; but you trust Dirk. You let your gaze shift to the bag, and then back to him. “How much is that?” You motion at the bag, frowning. “It seems like...a lot. A lot a lot. Way more than should actually be able to fit into my virgin ass.”

“About two quarts. It's castile soap, so it won't be hard on you.” You make a choking sound, and he chuckles. “The theory is that the colon can hold about six quarts. Most people start with two. You’ll hold it in for about five minutes, and then go let it out.”

You nod slowly. “What’s it gonna feel like?” This is so beyond the realm of what you consider ‘normal’ that you feel some sort of bizarre calm. Of course you’ll take two quarts of some soapy water into your butt and then push it back out of your butt five minutes later. That is a completely normal thing for brothers to do with their ectobiological family units. Soapy liquid in the butt, soapy liquid out of the butt.

“Well...” His brows knit together. “There’ll be pressure. Some people experience cramping.” 

“Cramping.” You repeat the word, hoping that your distaste shows in your voice. “That sounds like the opposite of a good time.”

Dirk shrugs. “Some people are into that.”

 _People are so fucking gross_. You try not to shudder. “But that’s it? Then I’m all clean?”

He winces. “Not exactly. We'll need to do a second rinse to get the soap out. But after that, yeah.”

You stare at him for a second. “So you’re gonna re-fill that thing and put it back in my ass.”

Whatever discomfort you’re feeling must be showing on your face, because Dirk shakes his head, rising from the chair. “You don’t have to do this, Nintendo.”

You also stand, but it’s so you can move into his path, blocking him from leaving. “No.” You shake your head. “I want to try.”

You’re probably both aware that all of this is stemming from your own stubborn drive to fucking _do this, dammit_ , but he doesn’t push against your hand or try to move past you. Instead, Dirk bows his head. He tugs his shades off, so that when he looks back up at you, there’s no plastic obscuring his gaze. He probably does it so you know he’s sincere, or whatever. Mostly all it does is give you a nice kick in the chest, because _fuck_ you love his eyes. “Are you sure? Really sure?” He studies you for a moment, before adding, “I’m not gonna be like Bro and force shit on you just for my own sick satisfaction.”

Every single time Dirk reminds you that he cares it makes your heart do funny things. There’s a whole circus performing in your gut right now, complete with elephants and lions, and you do your best to put a stop to the show before you speak. You don’t do a good job, which is probably why he doesn't look convinced when your voice shakes. “Yeah. I’m as sure as I’m gonna get.” You take a deep breath and press on. “Besides, it’s the best shot I’ve got right now. If this helps me be okay with doing the one thing that you’re all sure is gonna get me the gold O, then I’m all for it.” His expression remains skeptical, and it's so frustrating you could scream. Instead, you try and swallow, and the lack of saliva in your mouth makes your voice hoarse. "Please." You cough, and try again. "I want to try."

He holds your gaze for just a moment longer before his head dips, and he slides his sunglasses back into place. "Okay. Lie down on your stomach and put your ass in the air."

Despite the fact that you've now spent a good five or ten minutes talking him into asking you to do just that, it still makes your pulse jump, and you swallow. Your recent discovery that clothes are the fucking worst means that you're already naked, and as you position yourself on your bed, you're suddenly painfully aware of just how bare that really is, being all the way naked with not even a pair of boxers to cover your nonexistent unmentionables. 

The position alone makes your blood hum, and you close your eyes. 

They pop back open when you feel Dirk's fingers parting your cheeks. "Just lube," he informs you, and you shiver at the cold, slippery sensation against your asshole, sucking in a breath. You didn't realize how many of your nerves back there were sensitive, and when he begins easing the tubing into you, you can't help the gargled choke that sticks in your throat.

He stops immediately. "You okay?"

You can't help it; your hands are working at the sheet, and you unclench them when he speaks. "Just get it over with," you hiss through clenched teeth. It's not that it's _unpleasant,_ it's just... "I don't know how long I can handle this."

There's doubt in his tone. "DS..."

" _Please,_ Dirk. Don't fucking...don't ask again."

There's that sigh again, and this time a flash of shame burns through you. You're not trying to be a shit, but you're being one anyway. He doesn't call you on it, though. "If you say so."

"I do," you mutter, closing your eyes and struggling to relax. It isn't so bad. It's hard to get past the gross aspect of things, but this doesn't feel gross. This feels...almost nice. He was right, you don't feel much of the tube inside you, even though you can feel it sliding into your ass. There's a couple moments where you think you can feel the tube pushing against your insides, but they pass relatively quickly. As he works the tube deeper, the pressure remains gentle. Almost soft. After a moment he pauses, letting some water flow down the tube and into you. The warmth is sudden, tingling through your insides, and it makes you flinch. This happens every few seconds and every single time, you tense.

There's a second where he's fiddling with the tubing, and you feel something shift. It almost pinches, forcing you to suck in a deep breath. "There we go," you hear Dirk mutter behind you, and he pats your ass almost absently. The gentle affection makes you shiver.

He freezes. "Shit, sorry."

Oh, fuck. You search for words while your heart skips a beat. You don't want to discourage his affection. You should, but you don't. "No, it's fine, dude. Don't apologize for being handsy, or whatever. I don't mind it." The last words come out as a mumble. Your heart, of course, is going at about a thousand RPMs, but that's besides the point.

He pats your ass again, this time with a little more caution. You'd probably laugh at how awkward that is, if you didn't have your ass up in the air and a tube halfway through your large intestine. "I'm gonna fill you up now. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." Your voice is soft and breathy, and you hate it, you decide. You hate how vulnerable this makes you feel. You—

Oh.

The little splashes of warmth that had come as he worked the tube into you are nothing compared to the heat pouring into you, and it makes the rest of the world seem cold by comparison. Dirk's hand is flat against your stomach, and he slips it a little lower, massaging you gently as the heat spreads through you, filling you from the inside out. Soon, you're pretty sure you can feel it sloshing with each stuttering breath you're taking, and you know that if you glanced down at your stomach, it'd look distended, because there's no way you've got this much inside you without it being obvious to anyone who looks at you. 

There's no way he doesn't know how turned on you are right now.

You can feel yourself blushing all the way down to your shoulders, and when you shift to try and get more comfortable, it makes everything move in a way that almost hurts. You don't realize you've groaned aloud until Dirk clears his throat. "You doing okay?"

"Fuck _yes,_ " You breathe, sighing. "It feels...really fucking good." 

His fingers dig briefly into your stomach, and you have to bite down on a moan. "Good," he murmurs, and you feel yourself clench on the tube, trying not to squirm. His hand is gone all too soon, though, and you hold your breath in an effort to keep from making another sound. "That's all of it. I'm gonna go refill this. Hold tight." The tube slips out of you way faster than he fed it in (you can't help the little moan that it pulls with it, and you're grateful he doesn't say anything) and you promptly focus on keeping your ass clenched. The last thing you need is to let go before you've made it to the bathroom. 

You nod (everything moves, and your throat works). "So what do I do?" You can't keep the hunger out of your voice.

"You sit." He pats your ass once more, and you grit your teeth. He's being so fucking good to you. _Don't think about it._ "When I come back, you can go empty out, and we can do this again."

You nod. Being still is a trial that you didn't realize was going to be a problem. "Just. Hurry." 

He chuckles. "If you need to go before I get back, you can. Hold it as long as you can, though. Focus on breathing."

You nod again, and when you hear the door close, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, well aware that it's hardly silent. You hadn't expected this to be as enjoyable as it is. You feel...heavy, almost; like everything is slow and weighted, and the warmth within you makes you tingle with both arousal and something akin to embarrassment: you'd been thinking earlier about how people are so gross, and yet here you are, very close to getting off on having your ass full of water.

You realize with a start that you are, in fact, very close to getting off. The space between your legs where your anatomy isn't is humming with need, and you press your thighs a little closer together, which makes everything within you _squeeze_ , and you bury your face against the blankets to hide the little mewling cry that slips out of your mouth. "Fuck," you pant, struggling to steady your breath. "Fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh _fuck._ "

It's not enough. It never is. But this time it just _keeps_ being not enough, even as the warm heat begins to cool. You're fighting to keep still, because each tiny movement is amplified tenfold by the liquid inside you, and it's making your entire body tremble. You've fucked around with anal before in your own time, but this is way, _way_ different. It's everything you'd ever heard anal would be without any of the satisfaction that would probably come with hard stimulation.

You need to be fucked.

The realization doesn't carry with it the revulsion that it usually carries. You've never been able to think about putting anything up your ass without shuddering in disgust, but now (with your ass well beyond full) you're not thinking about the gross parts. All you're thinking about is how good it feels. How you could lay here forever and just think about how good it feels, even if your muscles are starting to tighten in a way that feels a little like being stabbed. _Some people experience cramps,_ he'd said. _Some people are into it._ Well, apparently you fall under 'some people'.

You're enjoying this too much to care.

The pain is getting more intense, though, and by the time Dirk reenters your room, the 'good' part is no longer outweighed by the 'ouch' part. When he helps you to your feet, everything does that sloshing thing and you wince. "This part sucks."

"Yeah, sometimes," he agrees, his hand at the small of your back as he guides you to the restroom. Each step you take is small, mincing, because you can't imagine how fucking mortified you'd be if you lost it before you make it to the toilet. "You cramping?" You nod, and he winces sympathetically. "Well, the second run isn't gonna hurt as much. Soap sometimes causes that."

The door is _right there_. You catch the knob and shrug off his hand. "I got this part."

Emptying yourself out is a weird experience. It doesn't take as long as you expected it to and you sit there for probably way longer than you need to, because you feel fucking _drained_ in a way that you've never experienced before. The sensation is odd, but not bad; the feeling of being empty after being so full is dizzying, and once you've cleaned yourself up, standing is a little difficult.

You don't look at yourself in the mirror when you wash your hands.

Dirk's not in the hall when you come back out, but he is in your bedroom, and when you close the door you lean back against it for a second and just let yourself breathe. "That was intense."

He raises a brow at you over his glasses. "You ready for round two?"

You nod, and he watches you as you return to the bed. "Do I have to hold this one in for just as long?"

"Probably not. Just as long as you can handle it."

"Okay." You suck in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I'm ready."

This time, you don't flinch when his deft fingers part your cheeks and smear lube over your asshole, and you exhale a shuddering sigh as he begins to feed the tube into your backside. It's easier to remain still when you know what to expect, so each little burst of warmth that comes from him letting little bursts of water flood into you doesn't make you flinch so much as it makes you _ache,_ and by the time he's emptying the bag into you you've given up trying to keep your breath steady and your moans quiet. You're whimpering while he's rubbing your stomach, stretching out on the bed and clutching at the sheets under you, biting the blanket in some futile effort to keep yourself from losing utter control. 

This time, when he withdraws the tube, he stays close to you, his hand continuing its slow, gentle motions over the distending in your stomach. You rock against his hand and when your hips bump his, you're made suddenly aware of the fact that your not!brother is rocking one hell of a hard-on.

Clearly this is a sign, but you'll be damned if you know how to vocalize it. 

You settle for moving again, this time deliberately, letting your ass settle against his crotch and then arching so you're grinding against him. He must realize what you're doing, but he doesn't react at first, instead just keeping his hand on your stomach, moving it slowly. Everything feels so, _so_ full, which means your movements stay small, because more than that is more than you can handle. As it is, the feeling of his cock against your cheeks, even through his pants, is almost more than you can bear. 

When your stomach starts to clench in agony (too much wiggling, probably) you rock forward, whimpering. "I gotta—"

He whips his hand away from you with unexpected swiftness. "Go," he answers, and you're pleased to hear that his breathing is labored. At least this really is affecting him as much as it's affecting you.

"I'll be right back," you promise, even though getting up takes a long fucking time.

Your trip down the hall is probably faster this time, but it feels slower because Dirk is in your room instead of beside you and now that you're no longer actively grinding on his dick, your brain is starting to catch up to what you were just doing. By the time you've done your business and are cleaning up, the idea of going back into your room and...what? Finishing? ~~Begging him to~~ Letting him fuck you raw? _Anything_ is sounding like more than you can handle. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror, all flush-faced and desperate, and close your eyes so you don't have to see your own desperate hunger reflected back at you. The door is an impossible barrier and you curl up on yourself for a second, huddled atop the closed lid of the john, well aware that you have to go back to your room and well aware that that's an impossibility, because _Dirk is there_ , waiting for you beyond the door and down the hall and in another world where you don't care how he feels about you and can just let him do whatever he wants without wondering what he's thinking. That timeline doesn't exist and you wish it did, because it'd mean you were turning off how you felt in exchange for maybe fixing the problem, and what is any of this for, if not fixing the problem?

The door looms.

Seconds turn into minutes and eventually you swallow, easing yourself off the lid. You open the door with more resolve than you feel, and the hallway is too short and too long, all at once. You're already composing your excuses in your head - is _it felt so good I passed out_ a plausible reason for taking a million years in the bathroom, or is that too dramatic, even for you? - when you open the door to your room.

Your empty room.

Your heart swells with relief and breaks in half in one single beat.

You tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that you weren't ready. Your bed is warm and waiting and you can just _calm down, buddy_ and stop thinking about how you feel about anybody and think instead about all the reasons you shouldn't feel anything. You tell yourself that you don't want it to be like this, anyway. You tell yourself you shouldn't cry, because this is some stupid bullshit, and none of it makes sense, anyway, and when thirty minutes pass and he still hasn't texted, you swipe open your lockscreen and send him a message ( thanks for a great time lets do this again never) before you turn it on vibrate and pull your pillow over your head. When your phone vibrates two hours later, you ignore it, and when it vibrates several times twenty minutes after that, you sigh, pawing at the bed beside you until your fingers close around the rubbery case. 

\-- TimaeusTestified [TT] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

TT: If that's really what you think this is, then maybe it's best we put a stop to things.  


\-- TimaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

Your heart is shriveling and your eyes hurt.

\-- TimaeusTestified [TT] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

TT: Actually, you know what? I need some time.  
TT: At the risk of sounding like every cliché asshole, it isn't you, it's me.  
TT: So try not to worry about it.  
TT: Sorry, Nintendo.

\-- TimaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

You stare at the phone for a long, long time, your mind swept clean. This isn't an eventuality you'd prepared for. In retrospect, you probably should have; the fear that everyone's going to forget you is deeply ingrained in your very soul, but you hadn't planned on giving enough of a shit about Dirk for it to matter if he washed his hands of you. The lump in your throat shouldn't be unexpected, but it is, and for a few seconds you find you have to fight to try and find your breath, because it's coming in short, jilted, hitching gasps and there's tears dripping from beneath where you've got the heels of your palms dug into your eyes because you _shouldn't_ be crying, you fucking _shouldn't,_ you knew this before you'd even gotten back to your room. You should be glad he'd taken it upon himself to leave you alone, and you should definitely _not_ go sleep in Dave's bed until he gets home, because it's the middle of the afternoon and _also_ you shouldn't be crying about this anyway. 

And if you're going to go ~~cry~~ sleep in Dave's bed, you should at least get dressed.

After wiggling into a pair of boxers and pulling on a black tank top (it has 'SUPER-CALI-SWAGALISTIC-SEXY-HELLA-DOPENESS' printed across it, because you are a man with _style_ ) you brave the hallway and the three steps it takes to get from your room to Dave's. You shouldn't be doing this, and you know it, and when you let yourself in, you lock the door behind you.

The bed isn't made, and you collapse into it. In the warm afternoon air, Dave's oscillating fan _tk-tk-tk_ 's in the corner, despite the room being vacant. You tug at the pillows, arranging them into some approximation of a nest that you can tuck around yourself without feeling like you're suffocating. Once the fabric is piled high above you, you roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. You shouldn't be doing this. You should go back to your room and find some other way to occupy yourself. You don't even know when Dave's going to be home.

That's an excuse to text him, though, and you shuffle your phone out of your pocket and slide your thumb over Dave's name.

\-- atomicTangerine [AT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

AT: so  
AT: when are you gonna be home  
TG: that is some blindingly green text  
AT: yeah well  
AT: try talking to someone who uses the same color as you for more than five minutes  
AT: shit gets obnoxious  
TG: did you and our good old friend dirk have a lovely conversation  
AT: wow i cannot begin to tell you how much i dont want to talk about that  
AT: anyway you  
AT: home  
AT: when  
TG: uh  
TG: why  
TG: whats wrong  
AT: why does anything have to be wrong  
TG: i guess it doesnt  
TG: but i dont know  
TG: CG and i were just settling down for a fresh round of mariokart  
AT: oh hes back?  
TG: yeah  
TG: been back for a minute actually i think he took his finals online or something  
AT: oh huh  
TG: hey why dont you just come over here  
TG: its only like 20 minutes if you catch the 12 and just ride it down to MLK  
TG: vantas is only like a block off the line  
TG: can your little birdy legs walk  


You drag yourself back into an upright position, scowling at your phone. Leaving the apartment isn't something you do often. Somehow, being constantly looked past to the point where the bus driver doesn't see you standing there and the cashier only notices you because she's supposed to be looking for people who don't belong. You'd learned a long time ago that trying to interact with people who hadn't experienced the Game didn't typically go well for you. Watching someone forget you exist while you're standing in front of them was always off-putting. Dave should know that. So why's he suggesting you go through all that?

AT: i dont know if i have fare  
TG: okay not to be callous or shitty or anything but does that even matter  
AT: harsh  
TG: cmon dude itd be good for you  
TG: when was the last time you left the house  
TG: and anyway ive been talking to CG and he wants to chill with you  


You rake a hand through your hair. You've never really known where you stood with Karkat. He and Dave have been partners in one way or another since before the Game had even ended, and even though you know they're poly, you've always had a little bit of an issue getting comfortable around the former troll. It's hard to tell if he likes you, the idea of you, or if he's just so into Dave that he doesn't mind your presence. Still, he's one of the only people not-your-family that doesn't seem to mind having you around.

Your phone buzzes again.

TG: he might also have some insight into your situation you know  
TG: have you thought about asking him  


The words make you shiver. It hadn't occurred to you that Dave would talk to Karkat about your bullshit, and you're not sure how you feel about Yet Another Person knowing all about your weird journey. In retrospect, you're not really surprised; and honestly, it saves you the trouble. He's probably right, anyway.

AT: not really no  
AT: you dont think itd be weird  
TG: this is me telling you right here right now: its gonna be weird  
TG: but all of this is weird and i know you get all nervous but he really doesnt hate you  
AT: i dont think he hates me jfc   
AT: but fine  
AT: twist my arm and everything  
AT: can you at least meet me at the bus stop or something so i dont have to get lost in the back roads of the city  
TG: yeah we really shouldnt be letting you run around without a leash  
TG: who knows what kind of trouble youll get up to  
TG: youll tear into the neighbor's yard  
TG: go barking at some squirrels  
AT: pet play jokes aside  
AT: it isnt like i can stop and ask for directions  
AT: as youve already so handily pointed out most people dont register my existence  
TG: it isnt like you have a handy dandy piece of technology in your hot little claw that you can use to map it out either  
TG: oh wait  
TG: so get on the bus ill see you in like a half hour  
AT: i have to get dressed  
TG: its 2 in the afternoon and im not judging you but you really shoulda gotten dressed before now  
TG: are you just lounging around naked or something  
AT: no but  
TG: then come on  
TG: nobody cares what youre wearing and if you let yourself try and figure out an outfit youll give up halfway through digging in the closet and decide not to come at all  
TG: this bowl is only half done so get your scrawny creamsicle ass out the door  
AT: what if i dont want to smoke weed you fucking stoner  
TG: hey no pressure but a bowl might do you good  
TG: regardless get down here  
TG: times a-wastin  


\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

You slip your phone into your pocket, scrubbing at your eyes. Dave's right. It's been awhile since you've even gone outside, long enough that you don't quite remember what the sun looks like. The heat's just been oppressive enough that you haven't wanted to be friends with the sun anymore, but now that you're thinking about it, the walls of the room seem to crowd a little too close, and the whir of the old AC that's been a steady background hum since the beginning of the summer is suddenly loud, almost as loud as the steady thump of bass either coming from a neighbor's floorboards or somebody's room. Maybe Bro's room. Maybe Bro's going to corner you on your way out of Dave's room, and the bass is a lazy attempt to cover up the sound of his footfalls.

Your heart shouldn't be thumping as fast as it is, but you find yourself taking in slow, deep breaths in order to keep yourself calm as you quiet your senses so you can focus on your ears. Cautiously, you untangle yourself from Dave's bedding and creep out into the hallway. There's silence from the room at the end of the hall. Here, away from the outside walls, the shadows seem especially deep, and you find yourself scanning the corners for the cameras you _know_ aren't there anymore, you _know_ Dirk made sure Bro didn't put them up in here, you _know_ they're not there, but—

You give your head a shake. The hall is empty, with no menacing, blinking red lights letting you know that your every move is being recorded. Because it isn't. Because things aren't like that anymore.

Getting out of the apartment is a _great_ idea, and when you ease the door shut behind you, you find you're breathing a little easier.

* * *

When the bus comes, you squeeze through the back doors between two people coming out. You keep your head ducked, a baseball cap pulled firmly down on your forehead and your eyes hidden by your shades. You keep your hand clenched around your DS in your pocket, and you drop into a seat as far back on the bus as possible.

You can't focus on your game so you stare out the window instead.

It's a good thing you do - you see Karkat and Dave too late, and your mad scramble for the door does nothing to encourage the bus driver to stop. It's a good three blocks you have to walk, and when Karkat and Dave meet you halfway, you're fucking relieved to see they brought water. 

Karkat's shirtless, which is a surprise only for a second. "Oh, shit." You cough, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, staring at the twin horizontal scars that cut across his chest. He's lacking nipples, which is strange-looking (to you), but understandable - after all, before he'd been human, he'd been something else entirely. "You fucking did it."

"I fucking did it." Karkat's chewing on the corners of his mouth in an effort not to grin. The scars are dark against his already-dark skin, and he touches one self-consciously. "I had my drains out two days ago, and lifting my arms too high still hurts like fire. But they're fucking _gone._ " He slides his hands over the smooth, nipple-less plane of his chest. "I'm gonna spend my whole summer shirtless."

"Shit, dude." You thump him on the back. "Fuck yes."

"Fuck yes," Dave echoes. Hearing your words repeated in a voice that used to be like yours is eerie, and when he bumps against you, you flinch. 

You hand him the water, because that's what he's really after. "I thought I was the bird in this group." You fall into step behind Karkat.

Dave falls into step beside you, since you naturally made room for him. "You're the bird that's getting his birdy ass kicked at MarioKart."

"I'll kick anyone's ass," you sneer. "I'll kick my own ass."

They both howl with laughter (Karkat elbows you and tells you not to make him laugh so hard), and you give up trying to fight your smile. Yeah, this had been a good idea, even if there's heat baking off the sidewalks and into the soles of your feet and the whole city smells like cigarettes and bus exhaust. 

Dave bumps into you again, and this time, his fingertips brush yours. You blink, shooting a sharp glance at him. 

He's unphased. "I'm glad you came out," he murmurs. "I think you needed this."

You tilt your head back, squinting up at the sun where it hangs low in the sky. "Yeah," you say finally. "Me, too."

"Are you assholes coming or not?" Karkat's standing on the corner, which is a lot further than you thought it would be. "I could have seven kids and lose three jobs in the time it takes you chucklefucks to walk down the fucking street."

Dave shoves at you before bolting down the street, and you take off after him, choking on your laughter. It's gonna be a long (and fucking glorious) afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:  
>  **One,** I had a friend that [totally owned that shirt](https://img1.etsystatic.com/164/1/7870286/il_340x270.1244848927_lq74.jpg). He owned it because I bought it for him. I'm a bad friend.  
>  **Two,** I have lived in lots of cities and every single one of them has an MLK avenue or drive or street. Every. Single. One. It's almost always busy and somewhere downtown.  
>  **Three,** approx. 10 weeks have passed in fic, the timeline of which started in early April. I guess it's gone on long enough that we need some plot that isn't just...lots of fucking, for a chapter ~~or two~~ _I guess._ it's only gonna be one lbr I like gratuitous kinkfic)  
> thanks AS ALWAYS to [Fish](http://fishadee.tumblr.com%22) for helpful information about kinks I don't have, and thanks to [muchlessvermillion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchlessvermillion/pseuds/muchlessvermillion) for fucking straight up murdering me with idle comments like 'this is gay' while betaing this chapter.  
> ALSO, if this is your second time reading through this it might be momentarily confusing! I changed up this chapter (and the next few ones) pretty fucking drastically my second go-round.


	20. Chapter 20

Going to Karkat's becomes almost a daily ritual. You wake up, you shower, you shove some food down your throat, and then you slink out of the apartment and onto the bus down MLK. Sometimes, he tells you that he's gonna be gone the next day; sometimes, he texts you the night before and tells you where he left the key and to get coffee going when you get there. You hang out, you get stoned, you play MarioKart or Splatoon or Minecraft, you sprawl on your almost-brother and his best friend and things aren't nearly as awkward as they used to be. 

Plus, being out of the house means you don't run into Dirk. You don't want to run into Dirk. At first, he must have sensed it, because for the first three days after The Event you hadn't seen him or heard him or even smelled his deodorant in the hallway, but then he'd started texting you.

In three weeks, you have learned that it takes Dirk Strider approximately five hours before he sends a new text message, with that time span reducing based on how many messages he's sent you prior to the newest one at a rate of approx. five minutes per message. Telling him that you're 'busy' adds an additional hour to the new timer. It's complicated, but it's a formula you've got figured out to a fucking science.

Someday, you'll have to probably sit down and puzzle it out but you aren't ready to. Besides, you've missed Karkat. He's the one component in your life that isn't a mystery. When he's gone he's basically nonexistent, but when he's back he never complains about you sharing space with him. You're like Dave, and he likes Dave enough that he doesn't mind you. 

The only strange thing about it is that spending time with him is only weird because it isn't. Hanging out with him is as natural as hanging out with Dave, just a little shoutier. There's something there that you aren't quite in a place to deal with; which is fine, because nobody's making you deal with it. Mostly, he (and Dave) just let you exist. There's MarioKart, there's bong rips, there's eggs in the morning and sometimes pizza, sometimes spaghetti for dinner.

So puttering around his kitchen is a normal part of your day. You're early, but not _too_ early; Karkat had passed out late and you and Dave had Ubered home. It's late enough that Dirk's text is going to come once you're at Karkat's, instead of while you're on the bus. 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

TT: Hey.  
TT: We should talk.  


You could set your internal watch by Dirk's punctuality.

The chair creaks under you when you sink into it, resting your elbows on the little table. The coffee pot is bubbling, signaling that there's three minutes before you have to start on eggs if they're going to be done when the coffee is.

You're getting _amazing_ at cooking. 

\-- atomicTangerine[TT] is now atomicTangerine [AT] \--

AT: im busy  
AT: anyway what is there to talk about  
TT: Aside from the fact that you've been 'busy' for about three weeks?  
TT: Nothing, really.  
AT: cool  
AT: i mean not like you ghosted first or anything but whatever  
TT: I took a few days to process shit, yeah.  
AT: cool  
AT: me too and i think im cool  
AT: so lets just keep not talking about that bc thatd also be cool  
AT: that way everything stays nice and cool  
AT: like a fridge in the arctic circle  
AT: nothing cooler than this  
AT: ill talk to you later dude  


\-- atomicTangerine[AT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

That should be good enough, and it's done with time to spare. You click over to one of your other social tabs for a second, because a good dose of cat memes always makes you feel better after you've had to talk to Dirk.

Your phone buzzes again, and you scowl at the preview text on the screen before thumbing back to pesterchum.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

TT: I don't think so.  
TT: You can't keep dismissing this or blowing me off.  
TT: We have to have a conversation about this shit.  
AT: no we really dont  
TT: Yes we really do.  
AT: no  
AT: i do not fucking consent to this conversation okay  
TT: It's a conversation we need to have, Nintendo.  
AT: look  
AT: do you know what ive been doing the past three weeks  
AT: ive been playing mariokart & watching stupid tv shows on netflix with kk and dave  
AT: nobodys poked at my weird body  
AT: nobodys asked me how i feel about kinks ive never heard of  
AT: and best of all im not even thinking about all the weird feelings this is obviously giving all of us  
AT: so how about i just keep doing that  
AT: later on theres plans for netflix and really chill  
AT: were gonna watch dumb standup and all this shit will stop mattering and itll be fine  
TT: No.  
TT: That isn't how this works.  
TT: This isn't going to go away just because we don't talk about it.  
AT: you know who knows that better than any of you chucklefucks  
AT: this bird right here  
AT: do you know how long i tried to get off before i ever brought it up with anyone  
TT: That isn't even what we're talking about right now.  
TT: But okay.  
TT: Let's ride with this for a second.  
TT: How long was it before you tried?  
TT: Days? Weeks?  
TT: I mean, you were spawned from the Game like this.  
TT: So, what.  
TT: Were you trying to jerk it the minute the universe was reborn?  
TT: Or did you wait a couple weeks before you decided getting off was on your horizon?  
AT: wow why dont you fucking choke okay  
AT: i was not jerking it the minute i fucking popped onto this fucking plane  
AT: in fact i was busy trying not to panic because my body made no fucking sense  
AT: and then glory of fucking glories people barely pay attention to me on the phone  
AT: fuck going to the doctors   
AT: im the fucking invisible man like half the time  
AT: people notice me and then they stop noticing  
AT: they call me back to the exam room and then they forget that im in one  
AT: they check to see if im there and then they fucking look right through me and leave  
AT: they turn around to pick up their chart and then walk out of the room  
AT: IT SUCKS, OKAY  
AT: so fuck you and fuck yourself and your bullshit dismissive bullshit  


You rake a hand through your hair. Dimly, you're aware that the coffee has stopped. Dimly, you're aware that you have roughly twelve minutes before Karkat will probably wake up of his own volition, based on how late he'd been awake last night and the fact that he hadn't taken any pain pills for his chest and didn't have anything he was doing today. Dimly, you're aware that you can't solve this problem in that amount of time. Dimly, you're aware that Dirk's gone silent and you could just stop. You could just put your phone down and walk away, make breakfast and get stoned and play MarioKart and not fucking think about this bullshit for another three days, at _least._

You could do that.

There's tension humming through every inch of your body, and you draw in a shuddering, shaky breath as your keys fly over your phone.

AT: fuck im not even here for your fucking pity  
AT: like i am fucking dealing with the fact that my life is different from everyone elses  
AT: that is my fucking problem  
AT: and this is also my fucking problem  
AT: i fucking hate that you and dave talk about it like youre part of it or like you get it at all  
TT: I mean, we are part of it.  
TT: You came to talk to us about it.  
TT: You came looking for help.  
AT: okay now STOP HELPING  
TT: Dude.  
TT: I care. I know Dave cares.  
TT: We give a shit about you, we want to help you.  
TT: It's pretty obvious this is some of the heaviest shit to ever lay on someone's shoulders.  
TT: It goes way beyond the shallow thought of 'wow ds can't get off'.  
TT: If we can help you with this one tiny aspect, maybe it will help overall?  
TT: But there's shit we have to work out.  
TT: I give a shit about you.  
TT: Probably way, way more than I should.  
AT: you stop right there  
AT: i am not fucking prepared for this conversation  
TT: We're going to have to talk about it eventually.  
AT: no the fuck we really dont  
AT: like i understand that you want to help with this shit but heres a thought:  
AT: i dont get to puzzle out my emotions  
AT: everyone i know who actually recognizes i exist shares a pretty drastic traumatic bullshit past event with me  
AT: and most of them dont want anything to do with me  
AT: john wont talk to me  
AT: jades off doing digs all the time  
AT: rose is more about psychoanalyzation than she is about anything else with me these days  
AT: because guess what!! i made the same mistake with her that i did with you guys  
AT: i asked her for help  
AT: and now she wont stop helping  
AT: shes a persistent little helper horrorterror   
AT: with big teeth and looming tentacles that say things like tell me about your time in the Game and im only trying to help  
TT: What about my friends?  
AT: i dont know any of your friends  
TT: Yes you do.  
TT: We've all hung out.  
AT: hanging out and knowing people are totally fucking different  
AT: god fuck the point is  
AT: you cant get it  
AT: you _cant_  
AT: i cant explain to you what sort of wild paradoxical pandoras box ive gotten locked into but its locked nice and tight  
AT: i do not want you to be the overcurious asshole who goes in there and takes off the lid and lets out all the evil into the world  
AT: i get that youve got shit to work out i get that  
AT: but right now i cant fucking help you  
AT: just want it to go the fuck away  
AT: youre my brothers or siblings or whatever and yeah i get that you guys care  
AT: its sweet it really is  
AT: but this is my body  
AT: my emotions  
AT: my problem  
AT: and i dont want to deal with it for a minute  
AT: i havent hung out with kk in ages and for  
AT: just   
AT: like   
AT: a couple weeks  
AT: not even forever  
AT: id like to pretend im a normal dude with normal problems  
AT: bc right now none of my problems are normal  
AT: my body is fucked  
AT: theres all this complicated emotional bullshit surrounding the relationships i have with my two almost-siblings and my guardian-figure  
AT: life is fucking weird and i am tired of it  
TT: You have feelings about Bro?  
AT: i have feelings about how much of a cockbite he is  
AT: and i have feelings about how im pretty sure he just doesnt realize how much of a cockbite he is  
TT: Or doesn't care.  
TT: It's that one, by the way.  
TT: He just doesn't give a fuck.  
AT: but he could  
AT: and if he knew how much he was fucking us up maybe he would  
TT: That's some abuse apologist shit right there.  
AT: so maybe im an abuse apologist  
AT: but you definitely dont get to talk shit about him   
AT: you didnt grow up with him  
TT: Look, I get that this mess is a lot.  
TT: And I get that you just don't want to deal with it for awhile.  
AT: so lets not talk about it for awhile  
TT: Stop.  
TT: Listen.  
TT: Like it or not, you've pulled me and Dave into this at least a little bit.  
TT: And if there's one thing I learned from my fuckups with Jake, it's that sometimes you have to talk about shit.  
TT: Especially when you've got feelings all tangled up in all the bullshit.  
AT: i just spent like an hour telling you all the reasons why i cant talk about feelings being tangled up in all the bullshit  
AT: that bullshit needs to get hard and crusty before i go wading in there  
AT: right now its just a sloppy mess  
TT: That isn't how it works and you know it.  
AT: are you honestly suggesting that we sit down and talk about how we feel about each other right here right now  
TT: Yes.  
TT: Shit gets complicated.  
TT: It's not going to get less complicated.  
AT: youre basically my brother  
AT: eventually my brain will catch up and remember that  
TT: Okay, I get that there's things that are weird and taboo, but we threw that out the window a long time ago.  
TT: And I don't think anyone involved wants to get hurt.  
AT: this is such a weird conversation  
TT: It's a fucking necessary one, dude.  
TT: Emotional constipation doesn't look good on anyone.  
TT: You should cut that machismo 'we can't talk about our emotions' shit right out.  
AT: oh my fuck it isnt even like that  
TT: Yeah, okay.  
AT: you wanna be real about this lets be real  
AT: the only one with any emotional pain at risk is me  
TT: That's the most shortsighted, asinine thing you've ever said.  
AT: okay honestly i am definitely not ready for this conversation  
AT: especially not if this is the conversation in which dirk fucking strider confesses that hes in love with his ectobiological counterparts fucked-up body double  
AT: because if not then what is there to fucking talk about  
TT: Actually.  
TT: You know what, fuck it.  
TT: There isn't anything to talk about.  
TT: You go do your shit and I'll be around when you've no longer got your head buried up your own ass.  
AT: holy shit  
AT: did i hit a nerve  
TT: No, no.  
TT: I'm just respecting your decision to not talk about this right now.  
TT: Sorry it took me so long to get there.  
TT: I'll see you around.

\-- TimaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering atomicTangerine [AT] \--

You drop your phone, and it clatters across the table while you bury your head in your hands. When there's a thump, you peer over your fingers to see a steaming mug of coffee in front of you. 

Karkat's hand slides from your shoulder down to your back as he eases into the other chair. "You okay?"

The question is so absurd that a bark of laughter escapes you, and you shake your head as you grope for the mug.

He nods, settling back. "Wanna talk about it?"

" _No._ " The words come out harsher than you mean for them to, and you sigh. "I just...am fucking tired of everything being complicated."

He nods, and for a moment you two sit in silence, and when he scoots his chair closer to yours, you don't move. You don't move until he pulls at your side, and then you let yourself lean against him, and the sigh that escapes you is soft and slow.

Silence descends, and with it, there's a measure of calm, tension slipping out of you. When Karkat brushes a kiss over your forehead five minutes later, you straighten enough so that he can stand without tipping you into the floor. "You wanna go out for breakfast?"

You manage a faint smile. Karkat just makes things better sometimes, and you're glad he's in your life. "If you'll order."

He grins and shuffles back into the bedroom (presumably to put something on other than boxers), leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Dirk's right, you know it. You'll have to talk to him eventually. You'll have to puzzle out all of this eventually. Eventually isn't today, though.

Maybe it'll be tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to [Stark_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark_Black/pseuds/Stark_Black), who hung out with me in a stream all afternoon and helped me hammer this out, she's fucking great!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREPARE FOR SOME EMOTIONAL CATHARSIS BECAUSE KARKAT'S AWESOME THANKS

If your fight with Dirk does anything, it's ensure that you continue to spend most of your time out of the apartment. Dave is also spending a lot of time out of the apartment, but you know it has more to do with Karkat than it does with solidarity. It doesn't matter, though. The chance to spend time with both Karkat and Dave is just a happy byproduct of the whole thing, and besides, Dave's easier to handle than Dirk. Dave and Karkat both don't bring up your predicament, you don't talk about what happened with Dirk, and things have settled down a little bit. It isn't enough that you're ignoring it, but it's enough that soon, you're breathing a little easier. You'd forgotten what it was like to just be a person. Dave and Karkat are willing to let you be, and you're pretty sure you love them for it. 

It's been about a week since you and Dirk have exchanged words, and you are (of course) holed up at Karkat's place, playing MarioKart. Karkat and Dave have both tapped out, and you're left alone on the couch, finger-jockeying your bike around the tracks in the Bell Cup, because that's your favorite cup, Neo Bowser City be damned. There's a fan _whrr_ -ing uselessly in the corner, and the three of you have stripped down to boxers in a futile effort to fight the heat baking in through the open windows.

Dave's phone buzzes, and he glances down at it. "Hey, I gotta go. You two kids gonna be safe without me?" He rifles through the pile of clothes on the couch, producing both his shirt and his jeans in short order.

Karkat shoves at him, and he nearly falls over. Both of them cackle like this is the funniest thing that could possibly have happened. "Get outta here," Karkat says. "Don't be fucking late again." 

Somehow, Dave's already made it halfway to the door and already has his jeans on."It doesn't matter if I am." He pulls his shirt over his head and rakes a hand through his hair, winking before setting his shades back onto his face. "They love me."

Karkat snatches up the cushion Dave had been sitting on and flings it across the room at him. "Yeah, they're gonna love you with a fucking pink slip, you useless fuck."

Dave flips him off and blows you a kiss (you ignore both the kiss and the way your heart twitches) before slamming the door.

Karkat clambers up onto the couch beside you. He watches the TV for a few seconds before snorting. "You know, you'd be doing better if you were trying out baby speeds. You gotta learn how to get good."

You roll your eyes. "Pay attention, toolbag. I'm on 150cc and doing just fine."

"Seventh place isn't fine," he says, and you elbow him. He catches your arm and reaches over, plucking the controller out of your hand. "Let me show you how it's done."

As he settles against you, you groan, shifting to try and make him as uncomfortable as possible. You'll be fucked if you're gonna let some asshole steal your controller _and_ use you as a fucking pillow, all in one go. Unfortunately, Karkat is capable of being pretty damn immobile, and after you've shoved uselessly at him for a few minutes you give up and slump on the couch, one of your arms draped over his shoulder and the other one on your chest.

He races like that—half-curled against you, his head propped on your chest and his leg kicked up over the arm of the couch—and when he whips the Yoshi bike you've got Toad situated on across the finish line in first place, you huff out a sigh. "Your point is made."

"Fuck yeah it is." He drops the controller onto the floor in front of him, and snatches up the remote, turning off the TV. With an over-elaborate stretch (now that he can stretch without his stitches pulling too hard, he does at every opportunity) he adjusts himself so that his head is basically in your lap and peers up at you. "So."

You let your hand fall onto his chest, fingering his scars idly. "So."

Karkat raises a brow at you. "You gonna talk to me about your bullshit, or are we going to keep playing hop-and-go-fuck-yourself about it?"

 _Fuck._ You throw your head back, so that instead of staring at Karkat's face, you're staring at the ceiling above you. You'd known this was coming, and you pull off your glasses, massaging at your temples. "Dave said you wanted to talk to me about it."

He plucks your glasses out of your hands. "Yeah. I'm actually a little hurt you didn't talk to me about it yourself, though." You glance sharply at him, and he shrugs. "Fuck, who else do you know that has experience not only with their junk being different from what they're used to, but also with hating what junk they've got in the first place?"

He slides an arm around your shoulder, and you let yourself lean into him. A week ago, you would've written the casual affection he's been giving you as a byproduct of his relationship with Dave, but now you're not so sure. "You've been at school," you mumble, well aware it's a lame excuse. "I didn't want to put more shit on your plate." 

His skin is slightly tacky under your fingertips when you spread them across his stomach. It's blazing outside, and the A/C is broken, which means sweat is unavoidable when you wanna get cozy with someone in the middle of the afternoon, and you focus on that instead of trying to talk, your fingers running over his scars, tracing them one at a time. His breathing remains slow, and eventually you lay your hand flat against his skin, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. "I don't even know where to begin," you say finally, giving up on looking for the words that aren't there. "It's fucking complicated, even before you take into account that there's fucking emotions involved, and nobody asked for that."

"Like, what, with you and Dave?"

"Not so much with Dave. With Dave, I've just accepted that shit is just gonna be weird. He's basically me."

Karkat chuckles. The vibrations from the sound thrum through your eardrums. "You're nothing like Dave, dude. I mean, you guys have the same fucking dumbass sense of humor, but it's been years since the Game ended, and he's gotten more social while you've just withdrawn a lot." You draw in a breath to argue with him, and he cuts you off. "I'm not saying you don't have a reason for it. Dave says that people outside of the Game don't really react to you, and shit, that'd make me stay the fuck inside. I can't fucking begin to understand that shit." He ruffles your hair. "But that shit makes things different."

You groan, turning your face against his skin. "Thanks for reminding me that I'm a fucking freak."

"Hey." He drums his fingers across your arm, and you glance up at him. "I'm also a fucking freak. Years of jumping through hoops and being on hormones has made me feel like less of one, but it doesn't change the fact that I've lived as a freak way longer than I've lived not as one." He prods gently at you, and you untangle yourself from him. It's too hot to remain cuddled for too long, and as you adjust yourself on the couch he snags the bong and sets it in his lap, going through the motions of loading a bowl as he speaks. "At least here there was some sort of option for fixing the fucked-uppedness."

You fold your legs under yourself, crossing them at the ankle, your knees jutting out. "Was transitioning not a thing in your weird bug culture?"

"Not really." He pokes some weed into the glass piece he's holding. "I mean, the upper crust of our society hunted down mutants and either killed them or shoved them in starships." He puts the grinder back together and fits the bowl piece back in the bong, offering it to you. "Being a mutant, I wasn't exactly interested in talking to anyone about all the levels of freak I was, anyway." 

There's no lighter included in the offer, so you fish between the couch cushions for a second before producing the one that was lost there earlier. "So this world is better for you."

It isn't a question, and he doesn't take it as one. "This world is better in a lot of ways." When you pull back from the bong and struggle not to cough, he's got a glass of water ready to help soothe your throat. "You ever gonna not choke when you hit a bong?"

"Fuck," you sputter, "You." As he takes his own hit, you guzzle water, and by the time he passes it back to you, you're feeling a little fuzzy. Coughing may suck, but it always kicks your high up about ten notches, so you don't complain.

About halfway through your hit, he speaks again. "Maybe you just need to work on your gag reflex." 

You choke on your hit, and when you pull away, the bong is still half-full. He laughs while he takes it from you, clearing it while you finish the water and then taking his own hit. He finishes it off by blowing smoke rings at you, and while you're waving them out of your face, he sets the bong on the floor. "You're an asshole," you inform him, still wheezing.

"Learn to handle your shit." He twists on the couch, propping himself against the arm and wiggling his foot past your hip. After a moment, you twist with him, tucking yourself between his thighs and against his chest. He's broader than you, and there's a little squish to his belly, which means this is the most comfortable you've been in weeks. You could probably build a nest on Karkat Vantas and it'd probably be the greatest nest to ever get built on top of a slightly pudgy transboy-slash-former-troll.

Karkat's hand is warm against your back, and for a moment the two of you rest in silence, the city roaring dully by four stories down from the open window.

When he breaks the reverie, he does so quietly, which is pretty unusual, considering his typical volume. "So not Dave."

"Not Dave," you murmur back, your eyes remaining closed. "Shit with Dave feels simpler. Dave doesn't make my heart go nuts, not the way Dirk does. And nobody should, anyway. They're all practically my brothers."

"That's such a fucking stupid reason to exclude them." His fingers draw down your spine and dance back up again. "I mean, it isn't like offspring can come from it. Just guys being bros."

You don't know if you're just high, but that sentence makes your whole body shake with laughter. "Dudes bein' pals," you snicker. "Pals bein' buddies."

When you're both done laughing, he tugs you further up his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips, and his voice remains soft when he speaks again. "I mean, that's what we're doing, and it's not weird, is it?"

"A little," you admit softly. When he tenses, you rush to explain yourself. "I just don't get how you feel about this."

There's silence for a second. Then: "You could fucking ask me."

A little surprised, you roll over enough that you can squint up at his face. Since the last time you'd looked up at him, he'd retrieved your shades from where they'd landed and they now sit in the tangled black mess that is his hair. He's not looking at you, which means you can see the light of the dying sun reflected in the brilliant red of his eyes, like a guttering flame or the freshly-popped filament of a light bulb. His eyes are almost neon, unlike the muted, more natural red shading of Dave's.

Karkat isn't supposed to be plucking at your heartstrings, but here you are.

"Uh." You clear your throat, shifting so that you're lying on your stomach, propping yourself up with your arm laying across his scars. "What is it, then? Is it...pity? Do I remind you of Dave? Do you just feel sorry for me? Do you not have anything better to do?"

He glances down at you, and you feel your skin beginning to do the traditional 'warm-at-any-hint-of-affection-ever' dance, blood humming through your veins to make sure your cheeks are the color of a stop sign. You can't look him in the face anymore.

He doesn't seem bothered by it. There's fingers combing gently through your hair, trailing over your back. "You do remind me of Dave, a little. But that's not really a bad thing. I'm pretty fucking into Dave." You can hear the smile in his voice as he goes on. "If Dave had never gone to school, if he'd never gotten out...that's you, in a fucking nutshell. It isn't bad. Just different." His chest rises and falls as he sucks in a deep breath and exhales it slowly. "And It isn't pity. And I don't fucking feel sorry for you, Jesus fuck. That's definitely not what this is about."

Your pulse is quicker than you want it to be. "Then what _is_ it about?"

He snorts. "I give a shit about you. You, Dave-the-sprite. As a fucking person. Your own individual self. Fuck, I may be into Dave Strider, but I'm not so fucking obsessed with him that I'm chasing you just because your faces look the same."

That gives you pause. "...So are you chasing me, then?"

Silence this often would be weird, if the conversation weren't so heavy. When he speaks, he does so carefully, as though he's making completely sure he's being honest. "Maybe a little." The words send a pang through your heart. "I don't like seeing someone I give a shit about hurting. Especially not when I fucking know that there's shit I could do about it."

That makes you laugh, the sound bitter and harsh in your ears. "Nobody can do anything about this."

"Way to be the most morose motherfucker in existence."

"They _can't_ ," you insist. You're a little surprised ~~but not really~~ to find there's tears pricking in your eyes. Swallowing doesn't clear the lump out of your throat, but you press on anyway, because this is fucking _important._ "I can't fuck around with anyone without getting attached, which wouldn't be such a problem if less than fifty people in the whole _fucking_ world were willing to interact with me and if the four people who _did_ interact with me weren't my brother, my brother, my brother, and my brother's boyfriend."

His hand remains on your back, stroking your skin idly. "Have you talked to either of them about it?"

"Yes. No." You roll away from his touch, sprawled on your back across him. After a second, you sit up, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and willing yourself not to cry, because you'll be _damned_ if you're going to spend your afternoon stoned and sobbing in Karkat Vantas's lap. "Kind of?" You shrug helplessly. "I don't know how to talk to Dirk. Or Dave. Not about how I fucking feel. And that's without addressing all the kinky shit." The sigh that escapes you shudders its way out of your body. "I just want it all to go the fuck away."

He nudges at your shoulder, and you take the bong from him without looking. This time, when you hit it, he isn't a jerk, and you don't cough. "You know it isn't going to work like that."

You tilt your head back and blow out a rather dense cloud, much to your perverse satisfaction. You hate to admit it, but now that the thoughts aren't just rattling around in your head anymore, you feel a little better. "I know it isn't."

He takes the bong back. His own hit makes yours look pathetic, and you try not to scowl at him. Once he's cleared it, he sets it back on the floor. "So." He rests his hands on his knees. "You should talk to Dave first."

You tilt backwards, collapsing on the couch. "How?" You ask the ceiling, staring up at nothing.

"By being honest." Your bark of laughter is probably too incredulous, because he pushes his foot against you, nearly shoving you off the couch. "I'm fucking serious. Dave's not going to give you shit for having emotions. That guy has more emotions in his little pinkie than I have in my whole body. And if I know anything about Dave Strider's needy ass," he adds wryly, "I'd be willing to bet that he's dealing with some emotions in your direction, too."

You groan. "Great."

Karkat's toes wiggle against your side. "It _is_ fucking great. Talk about it so you two can be fucking stupid about it together, and then talk to Dirk so we can all be dumb together." He shifts, and you hear the TV click back on. "If you get it out in the open, then maybe you'll stop being so fucked up about it. And then maybe we can get back on to the serious, important shit."

You sit up a little bit. He's focused on the TV. "Serious shit?" You squint at him.

He nods solemnly. "The ever-important quest to get your rocks off. Pass me the cheetos." You choke on your snicker and shake your head as you snag the cheetos bag off of the floor. He shoves a handful in his mouth before motioning at the second controller, and once you pick it up, he tabs down to 200cc. "You ready to get fucking wasted?"

"No." You turn the controller on.

"Awesome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (davesprite's getting kissed _on the face_ next chapter in a moment that is one of my favorite fucking tropes stay tuned)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c

Dave and Karkat decide to take the next day to be undeniably gay by going out to see a local production of some weird obscure film that nobody had heard of, which is fine. You could use a day to collect yourself before you start actually taking apart your emotional bullshit with your current...partners. That's a weird way to think about your brothers, but it's kind of how shit is, and now you've gotta...deal with it.

Yeah.

The knock at the door is unexpectedly early, but Dave had left his keys, so you're not surprised. The person behind the door, however, is not your almost-twin and his partner. Instead, it's your Guardian's almost-brother, and he stands with his arms folded across his chest, standing in the shimmering heat for all the world like he belongs there. 

The impossibility of Dirk at Karkat's apartment is dizzying, and for a moment all you can do is stare at him, slack-jawed.

After a full moment passes, his brow arches slowly up on his brow. "Are you gonna let me in?"

You snap your mouth shut and give your head a dogged shake. "Is _not_ letting you in an option?"

You regret the words the minute they're out of your mouth. For his part, Dirk stares at you in stunned silence, before shrugging and lifting his hands in surrender. "If that's where we are—" 

"No." You swallow, taking a step back. "There's coffee, even." He sidles past you, hands shoved into his pockets, and you lean on the door after you close it, just watching him move. "Did, uh, Dave tell you I was here?" 

He glances over his shoulder at you for a brief second before letting his gaze resume sweeping the room. After a few moments of rifling through the cabinets, he produces a chipped black mug (there's a red crab on it; no doubt a gift from your erstwhile ectobro) and it isn't until he's pouring the coffee that he speaks. "I'm not an idiot, DS."

You remain glued to the door. "I didn't say you were."

"I'm not a fucking child, either." He braces himself against the counter, sipping at his coffee, watching you over the rim of the mug. "So why are you treating me like one?" Wordlessly, you frown at him, and he continues. "You're so sure I can't help you that you've cut me off."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." You let your head thud back against the wood you're braced against. "Why can't it just not be about that shit for just a second?"

"Because it hasn't been about that shit for almost a month, and you've been a fucking dick about it." He states the words with a calm eloquence, one that almost has a smug finality to it. "And you won't even tell me why." 

"You left the room," you say flatly. "You made it pretty fucking clear that all this is supposed to be to you is some fucking _science experiment_ , and when those lines get blurred, you're out. The ump's called it. You're benched, Di-Stri."

Your beautiful metaphor doesn't faze him. "Last I checked, the one maintaining emotional distance was you."

"You _left_ —"

"I did, yeah. It was fucked up. But I had to." He draws in a deep breath, exhaling it in a slow sigh. "Because I stopped being able to say I was just there to help you out, and I had to process that." 

The way he says it twists in a way you don't like it. "You say it like it's no big deal."

"Yeah?" He sounds almost amused. "Then I'm doing a good job faking, because it's a huge fucking deal."

Wow. "It's a huge fucking deal that you, what." The words are so astonishing that they taste like disgust in your mouth. "That you _want_ me?"

That catches him off-guard, and you watch his dumb cool-guy facade crack. Ever the master of his own masks, the crack doesn't last, and as you watch him compose himself, you can't help the irrational fire of spiteful anger building in the pit of your stomach. For a second, you hate every single thing that has ever happened to lead up to this moment, the moment in which the guy you're crushing on (who also happens to be your brother (except he's not) (except he is)) is telling you how fucking repugnant he finds the idea of being attracted to you.

His eyes narrow, and your hand curls into a fist.

For a second, he looks just like Bro.

He's talking, and you probably wouldn't care, except you know the syllables coming out of his mouth. "Ninten—"

"Don't _call me that,_ " You snarl, biting the words out as you stalk across the room. "Don't fucking use your stupid baby nicknames on me. I'm not some tiny little precious _thing_ that needs to be coddled and kissed and protected, and I'm not some fucking _puzzle_ for you to fucking _solve_ , I'm so fucking— fucking—"

There aren't words. Your voice has failed you. Your heart is a blazing fire of pain and fury, your ~~claws~~ hands are weapons that you keep curled tightly at your sides, and when he catches you by the shoulders, you nearly hit him. Instead, you shrug him off, taking a step back. Your voice doesn't so much as return as it does come simpering back. "Don't."

"DS."

" _Don't,_ " You repeat, but the word has no more force in it, because it's a protest you shouldn't be making, and you're making it anyway.

His hand is warm on your wrist. "Are you sure?" He's closer than you thought, even though you'd been stepping out of his reach less than a second prior. He's close enough that you can smell his aftershave and you can feel your pulse where his fingers have your wrist trapped, and it beats like the wings you used to have, fast and thready, a steady hum. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. Barely there. There's a need in his words that you hadn't recognized before, and it burns. "Are you _sure?_ "

You aren't sure. You've never been less sure of anything in your fucking life. When did this become something more than that stupid science experiment? Shit was easier when it was a puzzle and you didn't care. You don't remember when you started caring, but you know that's when shit got fucked up and twisted. Maybe it was when Dirk pushed himself into the equation, because before then you'd known what you were doing. Dave was safe in a way that Dirk never could be and Bro was unattainable and cruel in ways that Dirk never would be. It made shit unpredictable.

He's so close. "Sprite."

"Don't call me that," you whisper, tilting your head forward so that when your lips crush against his it's just as much by chance as it is on purpose.

Kissing isn't like anything else. It pours fuel over fires that you didn't know had started, and when Dirk's hands rake up your sides you forget yourself and nearly apologize for the way you clutch at him, except your fingers aren't claws and your legs aren't a tail and suddenly the two of you are falling, because you tried to make your legs do things they aren't physically capable of doing. Your back thuds against the floor.

His knees hit the floor on either side of your hips and you find that both of your wrists are trapped in short order. Your chest heaves as you struggle to catch your breath, and you can see his eyes behind his shades, focused on you, brows furrowed. He studies you for a moment, before covering your mouth with his own.

Your kiss was gasoline and his burns slower, his tongue sweeping through your mouth, probing past your teeth. The warmth that it feeds _yearns_ inside you, and you arch beneath him, gasping openly against his mouth. When he pulls back, he's breathing hard against you. 

"We need to talk." His voice is ragged.

"Let me suggest we fuck talking." You shift enough to hook one leg around his. "Or talk fucking. Kiss me."

The laugh that escapes him almost _hurts,_ and he sits back, letting you go. "I'm not fucking you on Karkat's floor." He states flatly.

The way he says it is like a slap, and you pull yourself up, hugging your knees to your chest. Hot shame flashes through you, and Dirk's voice doesn't come soon enough to stop it. It's soft, though. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

This time, it's you cutting him off. "We need to talk."

There's relief in the quiet laugh that escapes him. "Yeah." His shadow falls over you, and when you look up, he's offering you a hand. "You up for a walk?"

You nod, catching his hand in yours. The force with which he pulls you up is just enough that you aren't thrown off balance, and when he starts towards the door, you're surprised to find your fingers still tangled with his. When the back of your head tries to do calculations to compute how long it would be before Dave and Karkat would be home, you shove it away.

Dirk's still holding your hand when he opens the door and steps out into the summer night.

This isn't going how you expected it to _at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm never sorry for short chapters)


	23. Chapter 23

His fingers slip away from yours in time with the door closing. He's silent as the two of you jog down the stairs, silent as you step out into the heat of the night, and when he stops at the steps leading down to the parking lot, he shuffles a cigarette out of his pack. Taking the one he offers you feels weird, lighting it even weirder; but the sensation of drawing on the filter isn't so different from pulling on the pipe back in the apartment. After a couple heady inhales, you sag back against the railing bracketing the walkway, tilting your head back and staring up at the spiny branches of the tree reaching over the sidewalk. The night is full of the sounds of the city, cars racing by less than a block from the bottom step and a train somewhere in the far-off distance and Dirk's own cigarette hissing not five feet from yours and your pulse thudding in your ears. He takes a long, slow drag, and you can mark the sound of every filament crackling into ember and dissolving into smoke. _This isn't walking,_ you think, but you don't care. The step is quiet and close, and Dirk doesn't seem too eager to actually go wandering into the night. You're not gonna push it.

"So." You take a long drag, exhaling it slowly. "What's up?"

He exhales. "Look." His finger flicks across the base of the cigarette, knocking ash to the ground. "I came here to say my piece."

You roll your hand, motioning for him to get on with it. "So say it."

There's another slow pull. "I'm sorry that I ghosted you, but I had to." His words are slow, even. "I knew when I did that we'd have to talk about it later, and that I'd have to apologize for it. I knew what I was doing when I walked out of your room. But I couldn't stay there and take advantage of you."

 _Take advantage of you._ You roll the words around in your brain. "How?"

His fingers flick against his cigarette again, and this time the gesture looks nervous. "DS, you were worked the fuck up. So was I. And I can't just...fuck you. It's complicated, and fucking weird, and it was before I ever got involved. Fuck, it's complicated and weird even before you bring feelings into it, and when those feelings are..." His hands twist when he doesn't know what to say, like he wants to pull the words from the air.

You seize on the silence. "Are you telling me you have feelings for me? Because that might take this straight out of Weirdsville and straight into Creepytown, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to get on that train and go chugging down those tracks, dude."

He falls silent and tilts his head back, staring up at the trees. The silence drags on for longer than you want it to.

You give. _"What?"_

"I don't know," he says finally. "I do. I think. But I can't figure this shit out. Not on my own. I talked to Rose—"

"You talked to Rose about this?"

"Yes, Davesprite, I talked to an educated psychologist about this," he answers, his voice flat. "And she informed me that it sounded very much like I was experiencing emotions outside of the standard bonds that come with blood ties. She also said it was a very unique situation, and she very much doubted that she could offer me a lot of insight without also talking to the other party involved."

You know he's just parroting Rose, but your stomach is queasy. "That sounds like couples counseling." You try to laugh. It doesn't go very well.

"Yeah." He's not looking at you. "So I figured we could talk. I don't know if anyone else is really suited to helping me figure this out. This situation is weird, and complicated, and not anything like what anyone else has ever had to deal with." He sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "So here I am."

He is looking at you now, and you want to tell him to fuck off. You want to tell him that he should talk to someone else. You want to tell him he should sort out his own shit before coming to you with it. You want to tell him you don't even know how _you_ feel, and you don't understand how he thinks you can help him. You want to tell him to just _go_ , to leave you alone, to just shut all of this off until neither of you are twisted up about it. 

You hold out your hand, and he passes you the lighter.

After you've relit your smoke (it still burns, and you regret everything you've ever done) you clear your throat. "If it's not like when you dated Jake, then what's it like?"

He falls silent again.

This time, you interrupt his stupid reverie with way less patience than you had the first time. "Dirk—"

"I don't know." This time, the words are said with a hint of anger. "You're my brother, except you're not my brother. And even then, it doesn't...fucking occur to me that it's supposed to be weird. So I guess it is, even though I don't know what having a brother feels like."

You frown. "You have a brother." 

"No," he shoots back. "Not until I came here, and he immediately bailed on me to make it big in this brand new Hollywood that had never heard of him. And I guess there's you guys, but it's only been, what, two years? Three?" 

_Four years, two months, six days, twelve hours and thirty-six minutes_ , you think. You don't say it. What you say is, "So we don't feel like brothers to you."

"I don't know what brothers are supposed to feel like," He answers. "I can guess, though, that they aren't supposed to actively want to bone each other."

 _You'd be surprised_ flashes across your brain, and you swallow. "Uh—"

His hand goes up, forestalling whatever you were going to say, and you go quiet. "Listen. Our weird family? The Strider clan?" His smile is wry. "I feel like we're a bad standard of what brothers do and don't want from each other. I mean, we've got Dave, Dave if you made him part bird, Dave if he went to Hollywood and wasn't raised by Bro, me, and my older, asshole, previously-dead clone. We aren't exactly a regular family with regular relationships."

"I know that."

He levels his gaze on you, and there's a flash of a moment where the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow makes you twelve all over again, huddled in the corner of your room with your arms over your head. _Think about it,_ whispers the spectre of your brother. "Really think about it for a second," says his clone, standing in front of you. "Just for a second."

You think about it. Unlike you, he seems content to give you your silence. Somewhere, a dog has started barking, and you're thinking about how your hair is sticking to your forehead and how the cigarette smoke chokes in your lungs way more than weed ever has, and this is all stupid, stupid, stupid. You wonder about what Dirk means to you, what Dave means to you, what any of this means at all. When you drop your cigarette, your thoughts are interrupted by the sudden realization that Dirk's standing close, really close, close enough that you can smell his aftershave all over again, sharp and cool and _Dirk,_ and the fact that he's not closer seems fucking unfair, for no reason at all.

There's still a dog barking, but it seems far, far away. The world has shrunk down to you and Dirk and the way the branches stripe shadows over his skin, ghosting light through his hair. 

He rests his hands on your shoulders. "We only want to help you."

There are flies less helplessly trapped than you. Your voice tastes further away than the echoing barks. "We?"

"Me." His forehead brushes yours. "I want to help you."

"Consequences be damned," you whisper, and he chuckles as he kisses you. It still burns like fire but this time it's slow, running down your throat and whispering through your veins until you can't help the way your arms are curling around him or the way your (claws) fingers rake through his hair. He's pulling you closer, folding you into his arms, and it's not his aftershave in your nose but his smoke in your mouth, and you could get drunk on the way Dirk's mouth feels on yours, you really, really could.

Being this safe and warm is almost more than you can bear. "I was going to come talk to you eventually," you inform him, and he chuckles again.

"I'm sure you were."

You'd protest more, but he's kissing you again, and interrupting it to argue seems counterintuitive, so you let him kiss you, opening your mouth to his and experimenting with darting your tongue past his lips. It goes on for a long, long time, and you're pleased to find him short of breath when he pulls back. "This doesn't solve anything, you know."

"I know. " His thumb rubs over your lower lip. "But it fucking feels nice." 

He untangles your arms from him in favor of tangling his fingers with yours, and you find you like that better, standing an inch away from him with only your fingers touching. It's not quite enough, though, so you drop your head against his shoulder. You find you like that, too. His head is against yours, and the two of you remain like that for long enough that your heart stops stuttering so roughly and all that you care about is the slow, even movement of Dirk's body as he breathes. You still don't know what any of this means, what any of it means at all. "I'm scared," you murmur, and the way he squeezes your hand in response makes your heart race all over again.

"You'd be crazy not to be." You can feel him smile when he turns his face against your neck. "Me too, a little. You just need to let us help." There's a half-beat, and then he corrects himself. "Let me help, I mean."

"You were right the first time." You straighten, stepping back and shoving your hands in your pockets. "I need to talk to Dave."

Dirk raises a brow. "You haven't talked to Dave yet?"

"Not...as much," you shrug, scrubbing your hand through your hair. "Mostly we've been not talking. Pretty carefully not talking, even. He doesn't fuck me up as much as you do," you add (he smiles in a way that you know means you weren't meant to notice, and God Dirk is gonna fucking be the death of you), "But I don't know how much of that is me just avoiding thinking about it and how much of it is just Dave being Dave and me being me." 

Dirk studies you for a second, before nodding slowly. "You need to talk to Dave."

"So talk to Dave," says a voice from nearby, and you both whip your heads around. There, at the bottom of the steps and not ten feet away from you, are Karkat and Dave, their hands clasped in something that is, you realize, a mimicry of the way you're holding Dirk's hand, right down to the way their thumbs are rubbing against each other. You don't mean to yank your hand away from Dirk, but you do anyway, and you shove your hands roughly in your pockets. Internally, you're cursing yourself for letting time get away from you and for not calculating it in the first place. If only you'd looked at the clock before you'd left the apartment, or you'd thought to check it after shit had been resolved. Or something.

Karkat actually laughs, and you want to slap him. "Do you two need some time alone?" He teases, and Dave leans into him.

"I think that might be good," Dave says. His eyes slide to you from behind his shades, and he grins. 

You swallow. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

Karkat claps his hand over your shoulder on his way up the stairs. "I think you've been putting this shit off long enough. I'll load a bowl for you guys."

Dave nods. "This might take some time, Vantas."

Karkat shrugs. "So I'll load a bowl, smoke a bowl, and then load another one." He glances at Dirk. "You coming?" Dirk hands you the cigarettes, nodding. About three steps up, Karkat pauses. "If you want to come up into air conditioning, I can be as quiet as a squeakbeast."

"It's mouse," Dave says. "And that's bullshit."

"It's fuck yourself," he tells Dave good-naturedly. "Come up if you want, fuckstick, that's all I'm fucking saying."

"Come on, Karkat," Dirk shoulders past him. "Lets leave these lovebirds alone." You hope the dark can hide the color rising in your cheeks. 

"Don't forget me, sweetums," Dave calls as the two disappear into the building. When the door swings closed, he holds his hand out for the pack.

Two cigarettes in this short of time is probably a record for you, and the first drag makes you a little dizzy. You offer it to Dave, who drops the pack into his pocket without taking one and fetches the smoke from between your fingers. "So," he takes a drag, exhaling it slowly. "What's up?"

Déjà vu is different with the two of you, and it makes both of you twitch. True to form, neither of you mention it. "You know what's up, dude."

"Do I?"

You roll your eyes. "Don't be an ass."

"Only way I know how to be." He takes a long pull off of the cigarette, and then offers it to you. When you shake your head, he shrugs, and puts it out on the railing. "So are you and Dirk going to be exclusive?" 

The question he's asking sounds way more nonchalant than it should, and your train of thought screeches to a halt. "What?"

He tucks the half-smoked cigarette into the pack and slides the pack back into his pocket. "You guys weren't exactly concealed." He shrugs, looking up at you. "It was just a matter of time, anyway. I knew you'd pick him, so I didn't push."

You stare at him. You don't know how you expected this to go, exactly, but it damn sure wasn't like this.

Unfortunately, you left your shades upstairs, so he registers the astonishment on your face, and he scoffs at it. "What?" He spreads his arms away from himself. "Are you really going to tell me - **me** \- that you'd rather date your clone instead of our brother's genetic twin? Please. I know where your mind's at." He shakes his head. "I'm not an idiot."

Whenever you think about it, it's really, really obvious that you've all been pulled from the same genetic material. "You sure sound like one," you mutter.

He raises his brows. "Enlighten me, then."

You rub at the bridge of your nose, sighing. "It's complicated."

"Of course it's complicated."

"It is!" you say hotly. "Like you said, you're my clone and he's my genetic twin, and I'm a mutated freak literally from another multiverse, and now, because of me, we're all fucking around with incestuous mega-kinks, because hey, what's it going to take to get the bird off, survey says _his brothers_ , so let's get our emotions involved, too, that sounds like the absolute cream on top of the bullshit pie."

He shrugs again. "It could be a lot less complicated."

"Yeah?" You snort. "How?"

"You..." He points at you. "Date. Dirk."

Oh, for _fuck's_ sake. "I don't want to date Dirk."

"Oh?" He smirks. "Does Dirk know? Because I'm pretty sure I walked up on the two of you playing tongue-hockey and then getting all cozy like it's the middle of January instead of the middle of June."

You can feel your cheeks heating up. "That doesn't have anything to do with anything."

"Yes it does."

For the first time, you realize the aggravation that's been lacing Dave's voice is hurt, and it makes you bite down on your lower lip. When you speak again, your voice is a little softer. "I don't want to pick either of you."

In the silence, he fishes the pack back out, and as he relights the cigarette, he shakes his head. "I told you, I'm not a fucking idiot. Whatever you and I've been doing, it ain't like _that._ "

"I know, but—"

"So you're telling me that you feel the same about me as you do about Dirk?"

"No, I—"

"Want to take me dancing? Swing me out to Lookout point? Hold hands at the drive-in?"

"For fuck's sake, Dave, _shut up!"_

The force of your shout stuns him to silence, and for a minute he just stares owlishly at you. It's rare that Dave fucking Strider goes silent, so you grasp for words desperately in the momentary reprieve of his barrage of words. "Of course I don't fucking feel the way I do about Dirk with you, alright? Dirk is different in a way that you really can't be—"

"Oh, thanks, dude, I—"

"Dave, stop talking." You hiss the words through gritted teeth, rubbing at your temple. "You wanna know what it is? You're safe."

"Safe." He sounds skeptical. You hate the way it sounds. You hate this, you hate everything about it.

"Yeah, _safe._ " You spit the word at him, and it tastes like anger in your mouth. "Safe, as in I don't have to be afraid of you being a jerk to me. Safe as in, you know what I need to hear and you only make it hurt if it has to. Safe, as in I know you get me, okay?" Your voice is thick. "You get me, and it feels like fucking cheating to try and fucking—f-fucking feel shit with you, because how could I not, fucking, how could I not care about you, how could I not want you to fucking care about me, you fucking know what I need all the fucking time, you fucking look out for me and I can't, I can't fucking ask you to distract from your life to fucking—to fucking focus on s-something that shouldn't even—"

It's hard to breathe, and your cheeks are wet. There's not space between you anymore, because you'd stepped towards him or he'd stepped towards you and now you draw your arms against your chest, hugging your shoulders. You wish for wings you didn't have, so you could hide, so you could fly, so you could just go and never, ever fucking look your twin/not-twin in the face ever again. He's close enough for you to smell his deodorant in the hot summer heat, and you can feel your pulse where his fingers are biting into your shoulders, and it beats like the wings you wish you had, rapidfire and frightened. There's a want in his eyes behind his shades, and it aches.

Déjà vu is different with the two of you.

Kissing isn't like anything else, and if Dirk is fire then Dave is lightning, crackling from his lips into yours and racing down your spine. You clutch at him with all the rigidity of a being struck, your muscles taut and singing and your fingers biting into his skin so hard you're sure you'll draw blood. He's there (of course he is) with his arms stronger than yours, because he's been doing shit while you've been lazing at home, his stance surer than yours, because he knows how to plant and you just don't care anymore, you'll be limp and let the world end for all you care. You lean into him and he's there, because of course he is. Where else would he be?

"I don't want," you whisper, against the cup of his ear when your body goes slack, "To pick. Either of you."

"So don't," he breathes against your ear.

You shove at his shoulder uselessly. "I'm not going to, you fucking cockbite."

"Hey, that's your job." He's got his face against your hair, like he's incapable of being still when you're against him. "You bite cocks."

You withdraw from him. Unlike Dirk, he doesn't keep your hands to himself; and you find you like that better, standing shoulder to shoulder with him with his hands in his beltloops and yours folded on the rail he's leaning against. "Not yours, though." 

"You're so fucking nice to me. I appreciate it. Really." He elbows you. "Ready to go inside?"

You imagine telling him he'd have to carry you, and then you imagining him completely and unironically carrying you up four flights of stairs, and decide it's a bad idea. "Don't pick me up."

You surprise a laugh out of him as he shoulders past you, and he glances back at you. "Maybe I should."

You scowl at him hard enough that he drops it, and you unpeel from the railing and fall in step behind him. This is a start. A good start. A better start than you thought it would be.

You don't even care if Dave beats you to the studio and claims the spot in front of the A/C, and you're only running because he'll give you shit if you don't try. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things:  
> 1, I got a new job! I have been unbeLIEVably busy.  
> 2, I'm still...gonna try and do this I think? DIALOGUE IS HARD YOU GUYS. Anyway, have some...feels I guess.


End file.
